HERVEY  FIXED  HIS  EYES  UPON  THE  ONE  REMAINING  LIGHT 

AND  RAN  WITH  UTTER  DESPERATION. 
Tom  SladSs  Double  Dare.  Frontispiece— (Page  40) 


TOM  SLADE'S 

DOUBLE  DARE 


BY 
PERCY  KEESE  FITZHUGH 


Author  of 

TOM  SLADE,   BOY  SCOUT,  TOM   SLADE  AT  BLACK, 
LAKE,    ROY    BLAKELEY,    ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED  BT 

R.  EMMETT  OWEN 


Published  with  the  approval  of 
THE  BOY  SCOUTS  OF  AMERICA 


GROSSET  &  DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS          :    :         NEW  YORK 


Made  in  the  United  States  of  America 


COPYRIGHT,  1922,  BY 
GROSSET  &  DUNLAP 


8RLF 
URL 


The  life  of  a  scout  is  bold, 
so  bold, 

His  adventures  have  never  been   told, 

been  told. 

His  legs  they  are  bare, 
And  he  wont  take  a  dare, 
The  life  of  a  scout  is  bold. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  THE  LIGHT  GOES  OUT       ....  I 

II  THE  BRIDGE 10 

III  AN  IMPORTANT  MISSION     ....  14 

IV  THE  TREE         21 

V  WIN  OR  LOSE 26 

VI  SHADOWS  OF  THE  NIGHT     ....  33 

VII  THE  LIGHT  THAT  FAILED     ...  37 

VIII  ALMOST         44 

IX  THE  HERO         51 

X  PROVEN  A  SCOUT 57 

XI  THE  NEW  SCOUT        63 

XII  THE  GRAY  ROADSTER        .     ...  68 

XIII  THE  UNKNOWN  TRAIL     ....  74 

XIV  ON  THE  SUMMIT 80 

XV  A  SCOUT  is  THOROUGH     .     .     .     .85 

XVI  THE  WANDERING  MINSTREL        .     .  90 

XVII  TOM'S  INTEREST  AROUSED       ...  97 

XVIII  TRIUMPH  AND 101 

XIX  HERVEY  SHOWS  His  COLORS     .     .     .  104 

XX  TOM  ADVISES  GOLIATH       .     .     .     .  116 

XXI  WORDS >     >     .    >.  123 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXII  ACTION         .     .     >.    >    >:    >:    >     .  130 

XXIII  THE  MONSTER        ..>...  133 

XXIV  GILBERT'S  DISCOVERY     .....  140 
XXV  A  VOICE  IN  THE  DARK     .     .     >     .  145 

XXVI  LOVE  ME,  LOVE  MY  DOG        .     .     .  151 

XXVII  TOM  LEARNS  SOMETHING      ...    ..     .  157 

XXVIII  THE   BLACK   SHEEP     .     .     ...    ...    ,.  164 

XXIX  STUNTS  AND  STUNTS     .     .     ...    ...     .  169 

XXX  THE  DOUBLE  DARE      .......  173 

XXXI  THE  COURT  IN  SESSION     .     >.    ...     .  181 

XXXII  OVER  THE  TOP        ......  187 

XXXIII  QUESTIONS    ........  198 

XXXIV  THE  MESSAGE    .......  205 

XXXV  THE  HERO         .     .     .     ...     .209 

XXXVI  MARLOWE'S  STORY         ...    ...    &    ...    ..  213 


TOM  SLADE'S  DOUBLE 
DARE 

CHAPTER  I 

THE  LIGHT  GOES  OUT 

IF  it  were  not  for  the  very  remarkable  part 
played  by  the  scouts  in  this  strange  business,  per- 
haps it  would  have  been  just  as  well  if  the  whole 
matter  had  been  allowed  to  die  when  the  new* 
paper  excitement  subsided.  Singularly  enough, 
that  part  of  the  curious  drama  which  unfolded  it- 
self at  Temple  Camp  is  the  very  part  which  was 
never  material  for  glaring  headlines. 

The  main  occurrence  is  familiar  enough  to  the 
inhabitants  of  the  neighborhood  about  the  scout 
camp,  but  the  sequel  has  never  been  told,  for 
scouts  do  not  seek  notoriety,  and  the  quiet  wood- 
land community  in  its  sequestered  hills  is  as  re- 
mote from  the  turmoil  and  gossip  of  the  world 

as  if  it  were  located  at  the  North  Pole. 

i 


2  TOM  SLADE'S 

But  I  know  the  story  of  Aaron  Harlowe  from 
beginning  to  end,  and  the  part  that  Tom  Slade 
played  in  it,  and  all  the  latter  history  of  Goliath, 
as  they  called  him.  And  I  purpose  to  set  all  these 
matters  down  for  your  entertainment,  for  I  think 
that  first  and  last  they  make  a  pretty  good  camp- 
fire  yarn. 

For  a  week  it  had  been  raining  at  Temple 
Camp,  and  the  ground  was  soggy  from  the  con- 
tinuous downpour.  The  thatched  roofs  of  the 
more  primitive  type  of  cabins  looked  bedrabbled, 
like  the  hair  of  a  bather  emerging  from  the  lake, 
and  the  more  substantial  shelters  were  crowded 
with  the  overflow  from  these  and  from  tents  de- 
serted by  troops  and  patrols  that  had  been  almost 
drowned  out. 

The  grub  boards  out  under  the  elm  trees  had 
been  removed  to  the  main  pavilion.  The  diving 
springboard  was  submerged  by  the  swollen  lake, 
the  rowboats  rocked  logily,  half  full  of  water,  and 
the  woods  across  the  lake  looked  weird  and  dim 
through  the  incessant  stream  of  rain,  rain,  rain. 

The  spring  which  supplied  the  camp  and  for 
years  had  been  content  to  bubble  ia  its  modest 


DOUBLE  DARE  3 

abode  among  the  rocks,  burst  forth  from  its  shady 
and  sequestered  prison  and  came  tumbling,  roar- 
ing down  out  of  the  woods,  like  some  boisterous 
marauder,  and  rushed  headlong  into  the  lake. 

Being  no  respecter  of  persons,  the  invader 
swept  straight  through  the  cabin  of  the  Silver  Fox 
Patrol,  and  the  Silver  Fox  Patrol  took  up  their 
belongings  and  went  over  to  the  pavilion  where 
they  sat  along  the  deep  veranda  with  others,  their 
chairs  tilted  back,  watching  the  gloomy  scene 
across  the  lake. 

"This  is  good  weather  for  the  race,"  said  Roy 
Blakeley. 

"What  race?"  demanded  Pee-wee  Harris. 

"The  human  race.  No  sooner  said  than  stung. 
It's  good  weather  to  study  monotony." 

"All  we  can  do  is  eat,"  said  Pee-wee. 

"Right  the  first  time,"  Roy  responded. 
"There's  only  one  thing  you  don't  like  about  meals 
and  that's  the  time  between  them." 

"What  are  we  going  to  do  for  two  hours,  wait- 
ing for  supper?"  a  scout  asked. 

"Search  me"  said  Roy;  "tell  riddles,  I  guess. 
If  we  had  some  ham  we'd  have  some  ham  and 
eggs,  if  we  only  had  some  eggs.  We  should 


4  TOM  SLADE'S 

worry.  It's  going  to  rain  for  forty-eight  hours 
and  three  months  more.  That's  what  that  scout 
from  Walla-Walla  told  me." 

"That's  a  dickens  of  a  name  for  a  city,"  said 
Westy  Martin  of  Roy's  patrol. 

"It's  a  nice  place,  they  liked  it  so  much  they 
named  it  twice,"  Roy  said. 

"There's  a  troop  here  a!T  *he  way  from  Salt 
Lake,"  said  Dorry  Benton. 

"They  ought  to  have  plenty  of  pep,"  said  Roy. 

"There's  a  troop  came  from  Hoboken,  too," 
Will  Dawson  observed. 

"I  don't  blame  them,"  Roy  said.  "There's  a 
troop  coming  from  Kingston  next  week.  They've 
got  an  Eagle  Scout,  I  understand." 

"Don't  you  suppose  I  know  that?"  Pee-wee 
shouted.  "Uncle  Jeb  had  a  letter  from  them  yes- 
terday; I  saw  it." 

"Was  it  in  their  own  handwriting?" 

"What  do  you  mean?"  Pee-wee  demanded  dis- 
gustedly. "How  can  a  troop  have  a  handwrit- 
ing?" 

"They  must  be  very  ignorant,"  Roy  said.  "Can 
you  send  an  animal  by  mail?" 

"Sure  you  can't  I"  Pee-wee  shouted. 


DOUBLE  DARE  5 

"That's  where  you're  wrong,"  said  Roy.  "I 
got  a  letter  with  a  seal  on  it." 

"Can  you  unscramble  eggs?"  Pee-wee  de- 
manded. 

"There  you  go,  talking  about  eats  again.  Can't 
you  wait  two  hours?" 

There  was  nothing  to  do  but  wait,  and  watch 
the  drops  as  they  pattered  down  on  the  lake. 

"This  is  the  longest  rain  in  history  except  the 
reign  of  Queen  Elizabeth,"  Roy  said.  "If  I  ever 
meet  Saint  Swithin " 

This  sort  of  talk  was  a  sample  of  life  at  Tem- 
ple Camp  for  seven  days  past.  Those  who  were 
not  given  to  jollying  and  banter  had  fallen  back 
on  checkers  and  dominos  and  other  wild  sports. 
A  few  of  the  more  adventurous  and  reckless  made 
birchbark  ornaments,  while  those  who  were  in  ut- 
ter despair  for  something  to  do  wrote  letters 
home. 

Several  dauntless  spirits  had  braved  the  rain 
to  catch  some  fish,  but  the  fish,  themselves  dis- 
gusted, stayed  down  at  the  bottom  of  the  lake, 
out  of  the  wet,  as  Roy  said.  It  was  so  wet  that 
even  the  turtles  wouldn't  come  out  without  um- 
brellas. 


6  TOM  SLADE'S 

Rain,  rain,  rain.  It  flowed  off  the  pavilion  roof 
like  a  waterfall.  It  shrunk  tent  canvas  which 
pulled  on  the  ropes  and  lifted  the  pegs  out  of  the 
soggy  ground.  It  buried  the  roads  in  mud. 
Hour  in  and  hour  out  the  scouts  sat  along  the  back 
of  the  deep  veranda,  beguiling  their  enforced 
leisure  with  banter  and  riddles  and  camp  gossip. 

On  Friday  afternoon  a  brisk  wind  arose  and 
blew  the  rain  sideways  so  that  most  of  the  scouts 
withdrew  from  their  last  entrenchment  and  went 
inside.  You  have  to  take  off  your  hat  to  a  rain 
which  can  drive  a  scout  in  out  of  the  open. 

It  began  blowing  in  across  the  veranda  in  fit- 
ful little  gusts  and  within  an  hour  the  wind  had 
lashed  itself  into  a  gale.  A  few  of  the  hardier 
spirits,  including  Roy,  held  their  ground  on  the 
veranda,  squeezing  back  against  the  shingled  side 
whenever  an  unusually  severe  gust  assailed  them. 

There  is  no  such  thing  as  twilight  in  such 
weather,  but  the  sodden  sky  grew  darker,  and  the 
mountainside  across  the  lake  became  gloomier 
and  more  forbidding  as  the  night  drew  on  apace. 

The  few  remaining  stragglers  on  the  veranda 
watched  this  darkening  scene  with  a  kind  of  idle 
half  interest,  ducking  the  occasional  gusts. 


DOUBLE  DARE  7 

"How  would  you  like  to  be  out  on  the  lake 
now?"  one  asked. 

The  question  directed  their  gaze  out  upon  the 
churning,  black  sheet  of  water  before  them.  The 
lake,  lying  amid  those  frowning,  wooded  hills,  was 
somber  enough  at  all  times,  and  a  quiet  gloom 
pervaded  it  which  imparted  a  rare  charm.  But 
now,  in  the  grip  of  the  rain  and  wind,  the  en- 
shrouding night  made  the  lake  seem  like  a  place 
haunted,  and  the  enclosing  mountains  desolate 
and  forlorn. 

"I'll  swim  across  with  anybody,"  said  Hervey 
iWilletts. 

He  belonged  in  a  troop  from  western  New 
York  and  reveled  in  stunts  which  bespoke  a  kind 
of  blithe  daring.  No  one  took  him  up  and  silence 
reigned  for  a  few  minutes  more. 

"There's  the  little  light  on  the  top  of  the  moun- 
tain," said  Will  Dawson  of  Roy's  patrol.  "If 
there's  anybody  up  there,  I  hope  he  has  an  um- 
brella." 

But  of  course  there  was  no  one  up  there.  For 
weeks  the  tiny  light  away  up  on  the  summit  of  that 
mountain  wilderness  had  puzzled  the  scouts  of 
camp.  They  had  not,  indeed,  been  able  to  deter- 


)B  TOM  BLADE'S 

mine  that  it  was  a  light;  it  seemed  rather  a  tiny 
patch  of  brightness  which  was  always  brighter 
when  the  moon  shone.  This  had  led  to  the  be- 
lief that  it  was  caused  by  some  kind  of  natural 
phenomena. 

The  scouts  fixed  their  gaze  upon  it,  watching  it 
curiously  for  a  few  moments. 

"It  isn't  a  reflection,  that's  sure,"  said  Roy,  "or 
we  wouldn't  see  it  on  a  night  like  this." 

"It's  a  phosphate,"  said  Pee-wee. 

"It's  a  chocolate  soda,"  said  Roy. 

"You're  crazy!"  Pee-wee  vociferated.  "Phos- 
phate is  something  that  shines  in  the  dark." 

"You  mean  phosphorus,"  said  Westy  Martin. 

That  seemed  a  not  unlikely  explanation.  But 
the  consensus  of  opinion  in  camp  was  that  the 
bright  patch  was  the  reflection  of  some  powerful 
light  in  the  low  country  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  mountain. 

"It's  a  mystery,"  said  Pee-wee,  "that's  what  it 
is." 

Suddenly,  while  they  gazed,  it  went  out.  They 
watched  but  it  did  not  come  again.  And  the 
frowning,  jungle-covered,  storm  beaten  summit 
was  enshrouded  again  in  ghostly  darkness.  And 


DOUBLE  DARE  9 

the  increasing  gale  beat  the  lake,  and  the  driven 
rain  assailed  the  few  stragglers  on  the  veranda 
with  lashing  fury.  And  across  the  black  water, 
in  that  ghoul-haunted,  trackless  wilderness,  could 
be  heard  the  sound  of  timber  being  rent  in  splin- 
ters and  of  great  trees  crashing  down  the  moun- 
tainside. 

Suddenly  a  word  from  Westy  Martin  aroused 
them  all  like  a  cannon  shot. 

"Look!"  he  shouted,  "Look!  Look  at  the 
springboard!" 

Every  one  of  them  looked,  speechless,  aston- 
ished, aghast,  at  the  sight  which  they  beheld  be- 
fore their  very  eyes. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  BRIDGE 

THERE,  just  below  them  was  the  springboard 
an  inch  or  two  above  the  surface  of  the  lake.  Or- 
dinarily it  projected  from  the  shore  nearly  a  yard 
above  the  water,  but  lately  the  swollen  lake  had 
risen  above  it.  Now,  however,  it  was  visible  again 
just  above  the  surface. 

This  meant  that  the  water  had  receded  more 
in  an  hour  than  it  had  risen  in  a  whole  week.  The 
strong  wind  was  blowing  toward  the  pavilion  and 
would  naturally  force  the  water  up  along  that 
shore.  But  in  spite  of  the  wind  the  water  in  the 
lake  was  receding  at  an  alarming  rate.  Something 
was  wrong.  The  little  trickle  from  the  spring  up 
behind  the  camp  had  grown  into  a  torrent  and 
was  pouring  into  the  lake.  Yet  the  water  in  the 

lake  was  receding. 

10 


DOUBLE  DARE  :n; 

Down  out  of  the  mountain  wilderness  across 
the  water  came  weird  noises,  caused  no  doubt  by 
the  tumult  of  the  wind  in  the  intricate  fastnesses 
and  by  the  falling  of  great  trees,  but  the  sounds 
struck  upon  the  ears  of  the  besieged  listeners  like 
voices  wild  and  unearthly.  The  banging  of  the 
big  shutters  ot  he  pavilion  was  heard  in  echo  as 
the  furious  gale  bore  the  sounds  back  from  the 
mountain  and  the  familiar,  homely  noise  was  con- 
jured into  a  kind  of  ghostly  clamor. 

"There  goes  Pee-wee's  signal  tower,"  a  scout 
remarked,  and  just  as  he  spoke,  the  little  rustic 
edifice  which  had  been  the  handiwork  and  pride  of 
the  tenderfoots  went  crashing  to  the  ground  while 
out  of  the  woods  across  the  water  came  sounds  as 
of  merry  laughter  at  its  downfall. 

"Something's  wrong  over  on  the  other  side," 
said  Westy  Martin  of  Roy's  patrol;  "the  lake's 
breaking  through  over  there." 

Scarcely  had  he  uttered  the  words  when  all  the 
scouts  of  the  little  group  were  at  the  railing  cran- 
ing their  necks  and  straining  their  eyes  trying  to 
see  across  the  water.  But  the  wind  and  rain  beat 
in  their  faces  and  the  driving  downpour  formed 
an  impenetrable  mist. 


(12  TOM  SLADE'S 

As  they  withdrew  again  into  the  comparative 
shelter  of  the  porch  they  saw  a  young  fellow 
standing  with  his  bare  arm  upraised  against  the 
door-jam,  watching  and  listening.  This  was  the 
young  camp  assistant,  Tom  Slade.  He  had  evi- 
dently come  out  to  fasten  the  noisy  shutters  and 
had  paused  to  contemplate  the  tempest. 

"Some  storm,  hey,  Tomasso?"  said  Roy. 

"I  think  the  water's  going  out  through  the 
cove,"  said  Tom.  "It  must  have  washed  away 
the  land  over  there." 

"Let  it  go,  we  can't  stop  it,"  said  Roy. 

"If  it's  running  out  into  the  valley,  it's  good- 
night to  Berry's  garage,  and  the  bridge  too,"  said 
Tom. 

The  young  assistant  was  popular  with  the  boys 
at  camp,  and  struck  by  this  suggestion  of  immi- 
nent catastrophe,  they  clustered  about  him,  lis- 
tening eagerly.  So  loud  was  the  noise  of  the 
storm,  so  deafening  the  sound  of  rending  timber 
on  that  gale-swept  height  before  them,  that  Tom 
had  to  raise  his  voice  to  make  himself  heard. 
The  danger  to  human  life  which  he  had  been  the 
first  to  think  of,  gave  the  storm  new  terror  to 
these  young  watchers.  It  needed  only  this  touch 


DOUBLE  DARE  13 

of  mortal  peril  in  that  panorama  of  dreadfulness 
to  arouse  them,  good  scouts  that  they  were,  to 
the  chances  of  adventure  and  the  possibility  of 
service. 

"We  can't  do  anything,  can  we?"  one  asked. 
"It's  too  late  now,  isn't  it?" 

"It's  either  too  late  or  it  isn't,"  said  Tom 
Slade;  "and  it's  for  us  to  see.  I  was  thinking  of 
Berry's  place,  and  I  was  thinking  of  the  crowd 
that's  coming  up  tonight  on  the  bus.  If  the 
water  has  broken  through  across  the  lake  and  is 
pouring  into  the  valley,  it'll  wash  away  the  bridge. 
The  bus  ought  to  be  here  now.  There  are  two 
troops  from  the  four-twenty  train  at  CatskilL 
Maybe  the  train  is  late  on  account  of  the  weather. 
If  the  bridge  is  down  .  .  ." 

"Call  up  Berry's  place  and  find  out,"  said 
Westy  Martin. 

"That's  just  what  has  me  worrying,"  said  Tom; 
"Berry's  doesn't  answer." 


CHAPTER  III 

AN  IMPORTANT  MISSION 

TEMPLE  CAMP  was  situated  on  a  gentle  slope 
close  to  the  east  shore  of  the  lake.  Save  for  this 
small  area  of  habitable  land  the  lake  was  entirely 
surrounded  by  mountains.  And  it  was  the  in- 
verted forms  of  these  mountains  reflected  in  the 
water  which  gave  it  the  somber  hue  whence  the 
lake  derived  its  name.  On  sunless  days  and  in 
the  twilight,  the  water  seemed  as  black  as  night. 

Directly  across  the  water  from  the  camp,  the 
most  forbidding  of  those  surrounding  heights 
reared  its  deeply  wooded  summit  three  thousand 
feet  above  the  sea  level.  A  wilderness  of  tangled 
underbrush,  like  barbed  wire  entanglements,  baf- 
fled the  hardiest  adventurer.  No  scout  had  pene- 
trated those  dismal  fastnesses  which  the  legend  of 
camp  reputed  to  be  haunted. 

14 


DOUBLE  DARE  15 

Beside  the  rocky  base  of  this  mountain  was  a 
tiny  cove,  a  dim,  romantic  little  place,  where  the 
water  was  as  still  as  in  a  pool.  Its  two  sides  were 
the  lower  reaches  of  the  great  mountain  and  its 
neighbor,  and  all  that  prevented  the  cove  from 
being  an  outlet  was  a  little  bubble  of  land  which 
separated  this  secluded  nook  from  a  narrow  val- 
ley, or  gully,  beyond. 

Sometimes,  indeed,  after  a  rainy  spell  the  water 
in  the  cove  overflowed  this  little  bubble  of  land 
enough  to  trickle  through  into  the  gully,  and  then 
you  could  pick  fish  up  with  your  hands  where  they 
flopped  about  marooned  in  the  channel  below. 
Probably  this  gully  was  an  old  dried-up  stream 
bed. 

About  a  mile  from  the  lake  it  became  wider 
and  was  intersected  by  a  road.  Here  it  was  that 
the  bridge  spanned  the  hollow.  And  here  it  was, 
right  in  the  hollow  near  the  bridge,  that  Ebon 
Berry  had  his  rural  garage.  Along  this  road  the 
old  bus  lumbered  daily,  bringing  new  arrivals  to 
camp  and  touching  at  villages  beyond. 

If,  indeed,  the  swollen  lake  had  washed  away 
the  inner  shore  of  the  cove,  the  sequel  would  be 
serious  if  not  tragic  at  that  quiet  road  crossing. 


1 6  TOM  SLADE'S 

The  question  was,  had  this  happened,  and  if  so, 
had  the  bus  reached  the  fatal  spot?  All  that  the 
boys  knew  was  that  the  bus  was  long  overdue 
and  that  Berry's  "did  not  answer."  And  that  the 
fury  of  the  storm  was  rising  with  every  minute. 

Tom  Slade  spoke  calmly  as  was  his  wont.  No 
storm  could  arouse  him  out  of  his  stolid,  thought- 
ful habit. 

"A  couple  of  scoutmasters  have  started  along 
the  road,"  he  said,  "to  see  what  they  can  find 
out.  How  about  you,  Hervey?  Are  you  game 
to  skirt  the  lake  ?  How  about  you,  Roy  ?  There 
may  be  danger  over  there." 

"Believe  me,  I  hope  it'll  wait  till  we  get  there," 
said  Hervey  Willetts. 

"I'll  go!"  shouted  Pee-wee. 

"You'll  go — in  and  get  supper,"  said  Tom. 
"I  want  just  three  fellows;  I'm  not  going  to  over- 
load a  boat  in  this  kind  of  weather.  I'll  take 
Roy  and  Hervey  and  Westy,  if  you  fellows  are 
game  to  go.  You  go  in  and  get  a  lantern,  Pee- 


wee." 


"And  don't  forget  to  leave  some  pie  for  those 
two  troops  that  are  coming  on  the  bus,"  added 
Roy. 


DOUBLE  DARE  17 

Pee-wee  did  better  than  bring  a  lantern;  he 
brought  also  three  oilskin  jackets  and  hats  which 
the  younger  boys  donned.  He  must  also  have  ad- 
vertised the  adventurous  expedition  during  his 
errand  indoors,  for  a  couple  of  dozen  envious 
scouts  followed  him  out  and  watched  the  little 
party  depart. 

The  four  made  their  way  against  a  blown  rain 
which  all  but  blinded  them  and  streamed  from 
their  hats  and  rendered  their  storm  jackets  quite 
useless.  Tom  wore  khaki  trousers  and  a  pongee 
shirt  which  clung  to  him  like  wet  tissue  paper. 
If  one  cannot  be  thoroughly  dry  the  next  best 
thing  is  to  be  thoroughly  wet. 

They  chose  the  widest  and  heaviest  of  the 
boats,  a  stout  old  tub  with  two  pairs  of  oarlocks. 
Each  of  the  four  manned  an  oar  and  pulled  with 
both  hands.  It  was  almost  impossible  to  get 
started  against  the  wind,  and  when  at  last  their 
steady,  even  pulling  overcame  the  deterring  power 
of  the  gale  they  were  able  to  move  at  but  a  snail's 
pace.  They  followed  the  shoreline,  keeping  as 
close  in  as  they  could,  preferring  the  circuitous 
route  to  the  more  perilous  row  across  the  lake. 

As  their  roundabout  voyage  brought  them  to 


;i8  TOM  SLADE'S 

the  opposite  shore,  their  progress  became  easier, 
for  the  mountain  rising  sheer  above  them  pro- 
tected them  from  the  wind. 

"Let  her  drift  a  minute,"  said  Tom,  panting; 
"lift  your  oars." 

It  was  the  first  word  that  any  of  them  had 
spoken,  so  intense  had  been  their  exertions. 

"She's  going  straight  ahead,"  said  Westy. 

"What's  that?"  said  Roy  suddenly.  "Look 
out!" 

He  spoke  just  in  time  to  enable  them  to  get  out 
of  the  path  of  a  floating  tree  which  was  drifting 
rapidly  in  the  same  direction  as  the  boat.  Its 
great  mass  of  muddy  roots  brushed  against  them. 

"It's  just  as  I  thought,"  Tom  said;  "the  water 
must  be  pouring  out  through  the  cove.  We're 
caught  in  it.  Let's  try  to  get  a  little  off  shore; 
we'll  have  one  of  those  trees  come  tumbling  down 
on  our  heads  the  first  thing  we  know." 

"Not  so  easy,"  said  Hervey,  as  they  tried  to 
backwater  and  at  the  same  time  get  out  from 
under  the  mountain. 

"Put  her  in  reverse,"  said  Roy,  who  never; 
failed  to  get  the  funny  squint  on  a  situation. 

But  there  was  no  use,  the  rushing  water  had 


DOUBLE  DARE  19 

them  in  its  grip  and  they  were  borne  along  pell- 
mell,  with  trees  and  broken  limbs  which  had 
fallen  down  the  mountainside. 

They  were  directly  opposite  the  camp  now,  and 
cheerful  lights  could  be  seen  in  the  pavilion  where 
the  whole  camp  community  was  congregated,  safe 
from  the  storm.  The  noises  which  had  seemed 
weird  enough  at  camp  were  appalling  now,  as  out 
of  that  havoc  far  above  them,  great  bowlders 
came  tumbling  down  into  the  lake  with  loud 
splashes. 

Tom  realized,  all  too  late,  the  cause  of  the 
dreadful  peril  they  were  in.  Out  on  the  body  of 
the  lake  and  toward  the  camp  shore  the  wind  was 
blowing  a  gale  from  the  mountains  and,  as  it  were, 
forcing  the  water  back.  But  directly  under  the 
mountain  there  was  no  wind,  and  their  position  was 
as  that  of  a  person  who  is  under  the  curve  of  a 
waterfall.  And  here,  because  there  was  no  wind 
to  counteract  it,  the  water  was  rushing  toward 
what  was  left  of  the  cove.  It  was  like  a  rapid 
river  flowing  close  to  the  shore  and  bearing  upon 
its  hurrying  water  the  debris  which  had  crashed 
down  from  that  lonesome,  storm-torn  height. 

The  boat  was  caught  in  this  rushing  water  and 


20  TOM  SLADE'S 

the  danger  was  increased  by  its  closeness  to  the 
shore  where  every  missile  of  rock  or  tree,  cast  by 
that  frowning  monster,  might  at  any  minute  dash 
the  craft  to  splinters. 

The  little  flickering  lights  which  shone  through 
the  spray  and  fine  blown  rain  across  that  black 
water  seemed  very  cheerful  and  inviting  now. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  TREE 

"WE'RE  in  a  bad  fix,"  said  Tom;  "let's  try  to 
make  a  landing  and  see  if  we  can  scramble  along 
shore  to  the  cove." 

It  is  doubtful  whether  they  could  have  scram- 
bled along  that  precipitous  bank,  but  in  any  case, 
so  great  was  the  impetus  of  the  rushing  water  that 
even  making  a  landing  was  impossible.  The  boat 
was  borne  along  with  a  force  that  all  their  ex- 
ertions could  not  counteract,  headlong  for  the 
cove. 

"What  can  we  do?"  Roy  asked. 

"The  only  thing  that  I  know  of,"  said  Tom, 
"is  to  get  within  reach  of  the  shore  in  the  cove. 
If  we  can  do  that  we  might  get  to  safety  even  if 
we  have  to  jump." 

Presently  the  boat  went  careering  into  the  cove; 


22  TOM  SLADE'S 

an  appalling  sound  of  scraping,  then  of  tearing, 
was  heard  beneath  it,  it  reared  up  forward,  spill- 
ing its  occupants  into  the  whirling  water  and,  set- 
tling sideways,  remained  stationary. 

The  boys  found  themselves  clinging  to  the 
branches  of  a  broken  tree  which  was  wedged  cross- 
ways  in  the  cove,  its  trunk  entirely  submerged. 
It  formed  a  sort  of  makeshift  dam  and  the  boat, 
caught  in  its  branches,  added  to  the  obstruction. 

If  it  had  not  been  for  this  tree  the  boat  would 
have  been  borne  upon  the  flood,  with  what  tragic 
sequel  who  shall  say? 

"All  right,"  said  Tom,  "we're  lucky;  keep 
hold  of  the  branches,  it's  only  a  few  feet  to  shore; 
careful  how  you  step.  If  you  let  go  it's  all  over. 
We  could  never  swim  in  this  torrent." 

"Where  do  you  suppose  this  tree  came  from?" 
Roy  asked. 

"From  the  top  of  the  mountain  for  all  I  know,'1 
Tom  answered.  "Watch  your  step  and  follow 
me.  We're  in  luck." 

"You  don't  call  this  luck,  do  you?"  Westy 
asked. 

"Watch  me,  I  can  go  scout-pace  on  the  trunk," 
said  Hervey,  handing  himself  along. 


DOUBLE  DARE  23 

"Never    mind     any     of     those     stunts,"  said 
Tom;  "you  watch  what  you're  doing  and  follow 


me." 


"The  pleasure  is  mine,"  said  Hervey;  "a  scout 
is  always — whoa!  There's  where  I  nearly 
dipped  the  dip.  Watch  me  swing  over  this  branch. 
I  bet  you  can't  hang  by  your  knees — like  this." 

There  are  some  people  who  think  that  trees 
were  made  to  bear  fruit  and  to  afford  shade,  and 
to  supply  timber.  But  that  is  a  mistake;  they 
were  made  for  Hervey  Willetts.  They  were  the 
scenes  of  his  gayest  stunts.  He  had  even  been 
fcnown  to  dive  under  the  water  and  shimmy  up  a 
tree  that  was  reflected  there.  He  even  claimed 
that  he  got  a  splinter  in  his  hand,  so  doing !  Up- 
side down  or  wedged  across  a  channel  under 
water,  trees  were  all  the  same  to  Hervey  Willetts. 
He  lived  in  trees.  He  knew  nothing  whatever 
about  the  different  kinds  of  trees  and  he  could 
not  tell  spruce  from  walnut.  But  he  could  hang 
by  one  leg  from  a  rotten  branch,  the  while  play- 
ing a  harmonica.  He  was  for  the  boy  scout  move- 
ment, because  he  was  for  movement  generally. 
As  long  as  the  scouts  kept  moving,  he  was  with 
them.  He  had  a  lot  of  merit  badges  but  he  did 


24  TOM  SLADE'S 

toot  know  how  many.    "He  should  worry,"  as  Roy 
said  of  him. 

"Here's  a  good  one — known  as  the  jazzy- 
jump,"  he  exclaimed.  "Put  your  left  foot  .  .  ." 

"You  put  your  left  foot  on  the  trunk  and  don't 
let  go  the  branches  and  follow  me,"  said  Tom, 
soberly.  "Do  you  think  this  is  a  picnic  we're  on?" 

"After  you,  my  dear  Tomasso,"  said  Hervey, 
blithely.  "I  guess  we're  not  going  to  be  killed 
after  all,  hey?" 

"I'm  afraid  not,"  said  Tom. 

"I  wish  I  had  an  ice  cream  soda,  I  know  that," 
said  Roy. 

"Careful  how  you  step  ashore  now,"  Tom  said, 

"Terra  cotta  at  last,"  said  Roy;  "I  mean  terra 
firma." 

"Jump  it,"  called  Hervey,  who  was  behind  Roy. 

Thus,  emerging  from  a  peril,  which  none  but 
Tom  had  fully  realized,  they  found  themselves  on 
the  comparatively  low  shore  of  the  cove.  The 
tree,  itself  a  victim  of  the  storm,  poked  its 
branches  up  out  of  the  black  water  like  specters, 
which  seemed  the  more  grewsome  as  they  swayed 
in  the  wind.  These  had  guided  the  little  party  to 
shore. 


DOUBLE  DARE  25 

So  it  was  that  that  once  stately  denizen  of  the 
lofty  forest  had  paused  here  to  make  a  last  stand 
against  the  storm  which  had  uprooted  it.  So  it 
was  that  this  fallen  monarch,  friend  of  the  scouts, 
had  contrived  to  check  somewhat  the  mad  rush 
of  water  out  of  their  beloved  lake,  and  had  guided 
four  of  them  to  safety. 


CHAPTER  V 

WIN   OR   LOSE 

THE  dying  mission  of  that  noble  tree  suggested 
a  thought  to  Tom.  The  water  from  the  lake  was 
pouring  over  it,  though  checked  somewhat  by  the 
tree  and  the  boat.  If  this  tree,  firmly  wedged  in 
place,  could  be  made  the  nucleus  of  a  mass  of 
wreckage,  the  flood  might  be  effectually  checked,, 
temporarily,  at  least.  One  thing,  a  moment's 
glance  at  the  condition  of  the  cove  showed  all  too 
certainly  what  must  have  happened  at  the  road- 
crossing.  That  the  little  rustic  bridge  there  could 
have  withstood  the  first  overwhelming  rush  of  the 
flood  was  quite  unthinkable.  Berry's  oarage  too, 
perched  on  the  edge  of  the  hollow,  must  have  been 
swept  away. 

And  where  was  the  lumbering  old  bus?  That 
was  the  question  now.  If  it  had  been  a  motor 

* 


DOUBLE  DARE  27 

bus  its  lights  might  have  foretold  the  danger. 
But  it  was  one  of  those  old-fashioned  horse-drawn 
stages  which  are  still  seen  in  mountain  districts. 

In  all  that  tumult  of  storm,  Tom  Slade  paused 
to  think.  All  about  them  was  Bedlam.  Down 
the  precipitous  mountainside  hard  by,  were  crash- 
ing the  torn  and  uprooted  trophies  of  the  storm 
high  in  those  dizzy  recesses  above,  where  eagles, 
undisturbed  by  any  human  presence,  made  their 
homes  upon  the  crags.  The  rending  and  crash- 
ing up  there  was  conjured  by  the  distance  into 
a  hundred  weird  and  uncanny  voices  which  now 
and  again  seemed  like  the  wailing  of  human  souls. 

The  rush  of  water,  gathering  force  in  the  nar- 
row confines  of  the  cove,  became  a  torrent  and 
threw  a  white  spray  in  the  faces  of  the  boys  as  it 
beat  against  the  fallen  tree.  It  seemed  strange 
that  they  could  be  so  close  to  this  paroxysm  of 
the  elements,  in  the  very  center  of  it  as  one  might 
say,  and  yet  be  safe.  Nature  was  in  a  mad  tur- 
moil all  about  them,  yet  by  a  lucky  chance  they 
stood  upon  a  little  oasis  of  temporary  refuge. 

"There  are  two  things  that  have  to  be  done — 
quick,"  said  Tom.  "Somebody  has  got  to  pick 
his  way  down  the  west  shore  back  to  camp.  It's 


28  TOM  SLADE'S 

through  the  mountains  and  maybe  two  of  you  had 
better  go.  Here,  take  my  compass,"  he  added, 
handing  it  to  Westy.  "Have  you  got  some 
matches  ?" 

"I've  got  my  flashlight,"  said  Roy. 

So  it  fell  out  that  Westy  and  Roy  were  the 
ones  to  make  the  journey  back  to  camp. 

"Keep  as  close  to  the  shore  as  you  can,  it's 
easier  going  and  shorter,"  Tom  said.  "Anyway, 
use  the  compass  and  keep  going  straight  south  till 
you  see  the  lights  at  camp,  then  turn  east.  You 
ought  to  be  able  to  do  it  in  an  hour.  Tell  every- 
body to  get  busy  and  throw  everything  in  the 
water  that'll  help  plug  up  the  passage.  Chuck  in. 
the  logs  from  the  woodshed." 

"How  about  the  remains  of  Pee-wee's  signal 
tower?" 

"Good,  chuck  that  in.  Throw  in  everything 
that  can  be  spared.  Most  of  it  will  drift  over 
here  and  get  caught  in  the  rush.  If  the  wind  dies 
it  will  all  come  over.  Hurry  up !  I'll  stay  here 
and  try  to  get  in  place  anything  more  that  comes 
in  in  the  meantime.  There  are  a  lot  of  broken 
limbs  and  things  around  here.  Hurry  up  now, 
beat  it/  And  don't  stop  till  you  get  there.  .  .  . 


DOUBLE  DARE  2$ 

Don't  let  anybody  try  to  start  over  in  a  boat," 
he  called  after  them. 

Scarcely  had  they  set  off  when  he  turned  to 
Hervey  Willetts,  placing  both  his  hands  on  the 
boy's  shoulders.  The  rain  was  streaming  down 
from  Hervey's  streaked  hair.  The  funny  little 
rimless  hat  cut  full  of  holes  which  he  wore  on 
the  side  of  his  head  and  which  was  the  pride 
of  his  life  had  collapsed  by  reason  of  being  utterly 
soaked,  for  he  had  very  early  discarded  the  oil- 
skin "roof"  in  preference  for  this  old  love.  One 
of  his  stockings  was  falling  down  and  he  hoisted 
this  up  as  Tom  spoke  to  him. 

"Hervey,  I'm  glad  you're  going  alone,  be- 
cause you  won't  have  to  do  any  stunts  for  any- 
body's benefit.  You're  going  to  keep  your  mind 
on  just  one  thing.  Understand?" 

"I  can  think  of  nine  things  at  once,"  said  Her- 
yey,  blithely,  "and  sing  Over  There  and  eat  a  ba- 
nana at  the  same  time.  How's  that?" 

"That's  fine.  Now  listen — just  two  seconds. 
You're  to  hit  right  straight  up  through  this  coun- 
try— north.  You  notice  I  gave  the  compass  to 
Roy?  That's  because  I  know  you  can't  get  rat- 
tled when  you're  alone  and  when  you  put  your 


30  TOM  SLADE'S 

mind  on  a  thing.  You're  to  go  straight  north 
till  you  reach  the  road.  I'll  have  to  keep  the  lan- 
tern here,  but  you  won't  need  it.  You've  got 
about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  of  rough  country  and 
then  easy  going.  Straight  north  beyond  the  road 
is  Crows  Nest  Mountain.  Turn  around,  that's 
right.  Shut  your  eyes.  One — two — three — four 
— five.  Now  open  them  suddenly.  You  see  that 
black  bulk.  That's  Crows  Nest.  Now  you  know 
how  to  see  a  dark  thing  in  the  dark.  .  .  ." 

"Do  you  know  how  to  tell  time  with  a  clothes- 
pin?" 

"Never  mind  that.  About  every  ten  minutes 
stop  and  shut  your  eyes  and  old  Crows  Nest  will 
guide  you.  Don't  get  rattled.  When  you  get 
to  the  road  wait  for  the  bus  and  stop  it.  If  it 
has  passed  by  now,  we  can't  help  it.  I'm  afraid 
it  has.  But  if  it  hasn't,  there  are  two  troops  in 
it  and  their  lives  depend  on  you.  Now  get  out  of 
here — quick !" 

"What  was  that?"  Hervey  said,  pausing  and 
clutching  Tom's  arm. 

"What  was  what?" 

"That  sound — away  off.     Hear  it?" 

Amid  the  wild  clamor  of  the  tempest,  the  dash- 


DOUBLE  DARE  31 

Ing  of  the  impeded  water  close  by,  and  the  ghostly 
voices  up  in  that  mountain  wilderness,  there 
sounded,  far  off,  subdued  and  steady,  a  low  melo- 
dious call,  spent  and  thin  from  the  distance,  and 
blended  with  the  myriad  sounds  of  the  raging 
storm. 

"It's  the  train,"  said  Tom. 

Still  Hervey  did  not  move,  only  clutched  his 
companion's  arm.  One  second — two  seconds—' 
three,  four,  five,  six.  The  sound  died  away  in 
the  uproar  of  wind  and  rain.  .  .  .  Still  the  two 
paused  for  just  a  moment  more,  as  if  held  by  a 
spell. 

"A  mile  and  a  half — four  miles,"  said  Tom. 
"Four  miles  of  road.  A  mile  and  a  half  of  hills 
and  swamps.  They're  at  the  station  now.  You 
can't  do  it,  kid.  But  you'd  better  fail  trying  than 
not  try  at  all.  What  do  you  say?" 

There  was  no  answer,  for  Hervey  Willetts  had 
already  plunged  into  the  torrent,  by  which  hazard- 
ous act  ten  minutes  might  be  saved.  Or  every- 
thing lost.  Tom  caught  a  glimpse  of  that  funny 
perforated  hat  bobbing  in  the  rushing  water  of 
the  cove,  pulled  tight  down  over  its  young  owner's 
ears.  Sober  as  his  thoughts  were  in  the  face  of 


32  TOM  SLADE'S 

harrowing  peril,  he  could  not  repress  a  smile  that 
Hervey  should  toss  his  life  so  blithely  into  the 
enterprise  and  yet  be  careful  to  save  that  precious 
hat.  He  was  more  proud  of  it  than  of  all  his 
ideeds  of  reckless  valor. 

Tom  knew  there  was  no  restraining  him,  or 
advising  him.  He  knew  no  more  of  discipline 
than  a  skylark  does.  He  was  either  the  best 
scout  in  the  world  or  no  scout  at  all,  as  you  choose 
to  look  at  it.  He  was  going  upon  this  business 
b  reckless  haste,  without  forethought  or  caution. 
He  would  stake  his  life  to  save  twenty  yards  of 
distance.  There  was  no  discretion  in  his  valor. 
Blithe  young  gambler  that  he  was,  he  would  do  the 
thing  in  his  own  way.  No  one  could  tell  him. 
Tom  knew  the  utter  futility  of  shouting  any  la  t 
warnings  or  instructions  to  him. 

For  Hervey  Willetts  was  like  a  shot  out  of  a 
rifle.  With  him  it  was  a  case  of  hit  or  miss, 
He  had  no  rules.  .  .  . 


THE  TREE  POKED  ITS  BRANCHES  UP  OLT  OF  THE  BLACK 

WATER  AND  GUIDED  THEM  TO  SAFETY. 
Tom  Slade's  Double  Dare.  Page  25 


CHAPTER  VI 

SHADOWS  OF  THE  NIGHT 

ONE  thing  Hervey  did  bear  in  mind,  and  that 
was  what  Tom  had  told  him  about  how  to  dis- 
tinguish a  dark  object  in  the  dark.  He  would 
not  remember  this  twenty-four  hours  hence,  but 
he  remembered  it  then,  and  that  is  saying  much 
for  him.  He  tried  to  improve  upon  the  formula 
by  experimenting  with  his  eyes  cross-eyed,  but  it 
didn't  work.  Skirting  the  lower  western  reach 
of  the  mountain  and  beyond,  in  the  comparatively 
flat  country,  he  kept  squinting  away  at  old  Crows 
Nest  and  its  shadowy,  black  mass  guided  him. 
"Slady's  got  the  right  dope  on  mountains,"  he  said 
to  himself. 

The  race  was  about  as  Tom  had  said;  four 
miles  for  the  horses,  against  a  mile  and  a  half 
for  Hervey.  Both  routes  were  bad,  Hervey's  the 

33 


34  TOM  SLADE'S 

worse  of  the  two.  All  things  considered,  hills, 
muddy  roads,  trackless  woodland,  swampy  areas, 
it  should  take  the  heavily  loaded  team  a  little  over 
an  hour  to  reach  the  bridge.  By  Tom's  calcula- 
tion it  must  take  Hervey  at  least  an  hour  and  a 
half. 

So  there  you  are. 

Going  straight  north,  Hervey  would  have  that 
dim  black  mass,  hovering  on  the  verge  of  invis- 
ibility, to  guide  him.  Traveling  a  little  west  of 
north  he  might  have  reached  the  road  at  a  nearer 
point.  But  here  the  traveling  was  bad  and  the 
danger  of  getting  lost  greater.  Tom  had 
weighed  one  thing  against  another  and  told  Her- 
vey to  go  straight  north. 

Hervey  found  the  first  half  hour  of  his  journey 
very  difficult,  picking  his  way  around  the  base  of 
the  mountain.  Beyond  the  country  was  flat  and 
comparatively  open,  being  mostly  sparse  wood- 
land. The  wind  was  very  keen  here,  since  there 
was  no  mountain  to  break  its  force  and  the  rain 
blew  in  his  face,  almost  blinding  him. 

Again  and  again  he  wiped  his  dripping  face 
with  his  sleeve  and  plodded  on,  picking  out  his 
beacon  now  and  again  in  the  darkness.  It  was 


DOUBLE  DARE  35 

surprising  how  easy  it  was  for  him  to  do  this  by 
the  little  trick  of  which  Tom  had  told  him.  His 
eyes  would  just  catch  the  mountain  for  a  second, 
then  it  would  evaporate  in  the  surrounding  black- 
ness, like  breath  on  a  pane  of  glass. 

Suddenly,  something  happened  which  quite  un- 
nerved him.  He  was  hurrying  through  a  patch 
of  woodland  when,  not  more  than  ten  feet  ahead 
of  him,  he  was  certain  that  he  saw  something 
dark  glide  from  one  tree  to  another. 

He  stopped  short,  his  heart  in  his  mouth.  The 
minutes,  he  knew,  were  precious,  but  he  could  not 
move.  The  wind  in  the  trees  moaned  like  some 
lost  soul,  and  in  his  stark  fear  the  beating  of  the 
drops  on  the  leafy  carpet  startled  him.  He 
heard  these  because  he  was  standing  still,  and 
the  ceasing  of  his  own  footfalls  emphasized  the 
steady  patter.  Somewhere,  in  all  that  stormy 
solitude  and  desolation,  an  uncanny  owl  hooted 
its  dismal  song. 

Hervey  did  not  move. 

It  was  not  till  he  bethought  him  of  those  horses 
lumbering  along  the  road  ever  nearer  and  nearer 
to  that  trap  of  death  that  he  got  control  of  him- 
self and  started  off. 


36  TOM  SLADE'S 

It  was  just  the  gloom  of  those  dark  woods,  the 
play  of  some  freakish  and  deceptive  shadow  con- 
juring itself  into  a  human  presence,  that  he  had 
seen.  .  .  .  Who  would  be  out  in  that  lonely 
wood  on  such  a  night? 

With  a  sudden,  desperate  impulse  to  challenge 
his  fear  and  have  done  with  it,  he  stepped  briskly 
toward  the  tree  to  glance  about  it  and  dispel  his 
illusion.  If  it  was  just  some  branch  broken  by 
the  wind  and  hanging  loose  .  .  . 

He  approached  the  trunk  and  edged  around  it. 
As  he  did  so  a  form  moved  around  the  trunk 
also.  Hervey  paused.  The  pounding  of  his 
heart  seemed  louder  than  the  noises  of  the  storm. 
In  his  throat  was  a  queer  burning  sensation.  He 
Could  not  speak.  He  could  not  stir.  The  dark 
form  moved  again,  ever  so  little.  .  .  . 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  LIGHT  THAT  FAILED 

THE  suspense  was  worse  than  any  outcome 
Could  be,  and  Hervey,  in  another  impulse  of  des- 
peration, took  a  step  to  the  right,  then  quickly 
another  to  the  left.  This  ruse  brought  the  two 
face  to  face.  And  in  a  flash  Hervey  realized 
that  he  had  little  to  fear  from  one  who  had  tried 
so  desperately  to  escape  his  notice. 

The  figure  was  that  of  a  young  man,  his  raiment 
torn  and  disordered  and  utterly  drenched.  He 
wore  a  plaid  cap,  which  being  pulled  down  over 
his  ears  by  reason  of  the  wind,  gave  him  an  ap- 
pearance of  toughness  which  his  first  words  belied. 

"You  needn't  be  afraid,"  he  said. 

"I'm  not  afraid,"  said  Hervey.  "Who  are 
you?" 

"Did  you  hear  some  one  scream?"  the  stranger 
asked. 

37 


38  TOM  SLADE'S 

"Scream?  No.  It  was  the  wind,  I  guess. 
Are  you  lost,  or  what?" 

"I  want  to  get  out  of  here,  that's  all,"  the 
young  man  said.  "This  place  is  full  of  children 
screaming.  Did  you  ever  kill  anybody?" 

"No,"  said  Hervey,  somewhat  agitated. 

The  stranger  placed  a  trembling  hand  on  Her- 
vey's  shoulder.  "Do  you  know  a  person  can 
scream  after  he's  dead?"  he  said. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Hervey,  somewhat 
alarmed  and  not  knowing  what  to  say.  "Any- 
way, I  have  to  hurry;  it's  up  to  me  to  save  some 
people's  lives.  There's  a  bridge  washed  away 
along  the  road." 

He  did  not  wait  longer  to  talk  with  this  singular 
stranger,  but  thoughts  of  the  encounter  lingered 
in  his  mind,  particularly  the  young  fellow's  speech 
about  dead  people  and  children  screaming.  As 
he  hurried  on,  Hervey  concluded  that  the  stranger 
was  demented  and  had  probably  wandered  away 
from  some  village  in  the  neighborhood.  He  had 
reason  later  to  recall  this  encounter,  but  he  soon 
forgot  it  in  the  more  urgent  matter  of  reaching 
the  road. 

He  had  now  about  half  a  mile  of  level  country 


DOUBLE  DARE  39 

to  traverse,  consisting  of  fields  separated  by  stone 
walls.  The  land  was  soggy,  and  here  and  there 
in  the  lower  places  were  areas  of  water.  These 
he  would  not  take  the  time  to  go  around,  but 
plunged  through  them,  often  going  knee  deep  into 
the  marshy  bottom.  It  was  sometimes  with  diffi- 
culty that  he  was  able  to  extricate  his  leg  from 
these  soggy  entanglements. 

But  he  no  longer  needed  the  uncertain  outline 
of  that  black  mass  amid  the  surrounding  blackness 
to  guide  him,  for  now  the  cheerful  lights  of  an 
isolated  house  upon  the  road  shone  in  the  distance. 
There  was  the  road,  sure  enough,  though  he  could 
not  see  it. 

"That's  what  Slady  calls  deduction,"  he  panted, 
as  he  trudged  on,  running  when  he  could,  and 
dragging  his  heavy,  mud-bedraggled  feet  out  of 
the  mire  every  dozen  steps  or  so.  Over  a  stone 
wall  he  went  and  scrambled  to  his  feet  and  has- 
tened on. 

The  lights  in  the  house  cheered  and  guided  him 
and  he  made  straight  for  this  indubitable  beacon. 
"Mountains  are  all — all  right,"  he  panted,  "but 
kerosene  lamps — for — for — mine.  I  hope  that 
«— bunch — doesn't  go  to — bed."  His  heart  was 


40  TOM  BLADE'S 

pounding  and  he  had  a  cruel  stitch  in  his  side  from 
running,  which  pained  him  excruciatingly  when  he 
ran  fast.  He  tried  scout  pace  but  it  didn't  work; 
he  was  not  much  of  a  hand  for  that  kind  of 
thing.  "It's — it's — all — right  when — you're  run* 
ning  through — the — handbook,"  he  said,  "but— 
but  .  .  . 

Over  another  stone  wall  he  went,  tearing  a 
great  gash  in  his  trousers,  exposing  the  limb  to 
rain  and  wind.  The  ground  was  better  for  a 
space  and  he  ran  desperately.  Every  breath  he 
drew  pained  him,  now  and  again  he  staggered 
slightly,  but  he  kept  his  feet  and  plunged  franti- 
cally on. 

Then  one  of  the  lights  in  the  house  went 
out.  Then  another.  There  was  only  one  now. 
"That's — that's — what — it  means  for — for — peo- 
ple to — to  go  to— -to  bed  early,"  he  panted  with 

difficulty.  "I — I  always — said "  He  had 

not  the  breath  to  finish,  but  it  is  undoubtedly  true 
that  he  had  always  been  a  staunch  advocate  of 
remaining  up  all  night. 

He  fixed  his  eyes  upon  the  one  remaining  light 
and  ran  with  utter  desperation.  His  breathing 
was  spasmodic,  he  reeled,  pulled  himself  together 


DOUBLE  DARE  41 

by  sheer  will,  and  stumbled  on.  On  the  next  stone 
wall  he  made  a  momentary  concession  to  his  ex- 
haustion and  paused  just  a  moment,  holding  his 
aching  side. 

Then  he  was  off  again,  running  like  mad.  The 
single  little  light  seemed  twinkling  and  hazy  and 
he  brushed  his  streaming  face  with  his  sleeve  so 
that  he  might  see  it  the  more  clearly.  But  it 
looked  dull,  more  like  a  little  patch  of  brightness 
than  a  shining  light.  Either  it  was  failing,  or 
he  was. 

He  had  to  hold  his  stinging  side  and  gulp  fop 
every  breath  he  drew,  but  he  ran  with  all  hit 
might  and  main.  He  was  too  spent  and  dizzy 
to  keep  his  direction  without  that  distant  light, 
and  he  knew  it.  He  was  not  Tom  Slade  to  be 
sure  of  himself  in  complete  darkness.  He  was 
giddy — on  the  verge  of  collapse.  The  bee-line 
of  his  course  loosened  and  became  erratic.  But 
if  his  legs  were  weakening  his  will  was  strong,  and 
he  staggered,  reeled,  ran. 

On,  on,  on,  he  sped,  falling  forward  now, 
rather  than  running,  but  keeping  his  feet  by  the 
sheer  power  of  his  will.  Hi?  heart  seemed  up  in 
his  mouth  and  choking  him.  With  one  hand  he 


42  TOM  SLADE'S 

grasped  the  flying  shred  of  his  torn  trousers  and 
tried  to  wipe  the  blood  from  the  cut  in  his  leg. 
Thus  for  just  a  second  his  progress  was  impeded. 

That  was  the  last  straw.  The  trifling  move- 
ment lost  him  his  balance,  his  exhausted  and  con- 
vulsed body  went  round  like  a  top  and  he  lay 
breathing  in  little  jerks  on  the  swampy  ground. 

One  second.  Two  seconds.  Three  seconds. 
In  another  five  seconds  he  would  rise.  He  raised 
himself  on  one  trembling  arm  and  looked  about. 
He  brushed  his  soaking  hair  back  from  his  eyes 
and  looked  again. 

"Where — what — where — is — it — anyway  ?"  he 
panted.  He  did  not  know  which  direction  was 
north  or  south  or  east  or  west.  He  only  knew 
that  a  dagger  was  sticking  in  his  side  and  that  he 
could  not  rise.  .  .  . 

Yes,  he  could.  He  pulled  himself  together, 
rested  a  moment  on  his  knees,  staggered  to  his 
feet  and  looked  around. 

"Where — where — th — the  dickens — is  north?" 

He  turned  and  looked  around.  He  looked 
around  the  other  way.  Nothing  but  desolation 
and  darkness.  He  thought  of  what  Tom  had 
told  him  and,  dosing  his  eyes,  opened  them  sud* 


DOUBLE  DARE  43 

denly.  The  mountain  must  have  been  too  near 
to  show  in  outline  now;  it  had  probably  melted  in- 
to the  general  landscape.  There  was  just  an  even, 
solid  blackness  all  about  him.  The  wind  moaned, 
and  somewhere,  high  and  far  off,  he  heard  the 
screech  of  an  eagle.  But  at  least  the  rain  did 
not  assail  him  as  it  had  done.  This,  however, 
was  small  comfort.  He  had  lost,  failed,  and  he 
knew  it. 

In  pitiable  despair,  in  the  anguish  of  defeat, 
he  looked  about  him  again  in  every  direction,  as 
if  to  beseech  the  angry  night  to  give  him  back 
his  one  little  beacon,  and  let  him  only  save  those 
people  if  he  died  for  it. 

But  there  was  no  light  anywhere.  It  had  gone 
out. 


ALMOST 

WELL,  he  would  not  go  back.  They  should 
find  him  right  there,  his  body  marking  the  very 
last  foot  he  had  been  able  to  go.  He  would  die 
as  those  brother  scouts  of  his  would  have  to  die. 
He  would  not  go  back. 

That  good  rule  of  the  scouts  to  stop  and  think 
was  not  in  Hervey's  line.  But  he  would  do  the 
next  best  thing — a  thing  very  characteristic  of 
Hervey  Willetts.  He  would  take  a  chance  and 
start  running.  Yes,  that  would  be  better.  There 
would  be  just  one  chance  in  four  of  his  going  in 
the  right  direction.  But  he  had  taken  bigger 
chances  than  that  before.  Anyway,  the  rain  was 
ceasing.  And  he  soon  overcame  the  sentimental 
notion  of  just  lying  there. 

The  momentarv  rest  had  restored  some  meas- 

44 


DOUBLE  DARE  45 

ure  of  his  strength.  The  aching  in  his  side  was 
hot  so  acute.  The  land  was  not  so  muddy  where 
he  was  and  he  took  off  his  jacket  and  washed  some 
of  the  heavy  mud  from  his  shoes. 

Then  he  started  off  pell-mell.  Who  shall  say 
what  good  angel  prompted  him  to  look  behind? 
Perhaps  it  was  the  little  god  Billikins  of  whom 
you  are  to  know  more  in  these  pages.  But  look 
behind  Hervey  Willetts  did.  And  there  in  the 
distance,  very  tiny  but  very  clear,  was  a  spark 
bobbing  in  the  darkness. 

He  paused  and  watched  it  over  his  shoulder. 
It  moved  along  slowly,  very  slowly.  It  disap- 
peared. Then  appeared  again.  And  now  it 
moved  a  little  faster.  A  little  faster  still.  Now 
it  moved  along  at  an  even,  steady  rate.  The 
long,  hard  pull  up  Cheery  Hill  was  over,  and  the 
horses  were  jogging  along  the  road.  Oh,  how 
well  Hervey  knew  that  lantern  which  hung  under 
the  rear  step  of  the  clumsy,  lumbering  old  bus. 

Then  it  had  not  passed. 

Hervey  Willetts  was  himself  now.  Tearing 
a  loose  shred  from  his  tattered  trousers,  he 
soaked  it  in  a  little  puddle,  then  stuffed  it  in  his 
mouth.  He  clasped  his  jack-knife  in  one  fist 


46  TOM  SLADE'S 

and  a  twig  in  the  other.  He  drew  up  his  belt. 
He  took  that  precious  hat  off  and  stuffed  it  in  his 
pocket,  campaign  buttons  and  all.  Ah,  no,  he  did 
not  throw  it  away.  He  ripped  off  another  rag 
and  tied  it  fast  around  his  neck  and  he  bound 
his  scarf  around  his  forehead.  He  knew  all  these 
little  tricks  of  the  runner.  It  was  not  thought, 
but  action  now. 

But,  oh,  Hervey,  Hervey!  What  sort  of  a 
scout  are  you?  Did  you  not  know  that  the 
shriek  of  the  eagle  must  have  been  from  the  moun- 
tain in  the  north?  Did  you  not  know  that  eagles 
live  on  mountain  crags?  Why  did  you  not  face 
into  the  wind  and  you  would  have  headed  north? 
When  the  rain  did  not  blow  in  your  face  or  against 
either  cheek,  that  was  because  you  were  facing 
south.  It  had  not  stopped  raining.  It  was  rain- 
ing and  blowing  for  your  sake  and  you  did  not 
know  it.  You  were  hunting  for  a  kerosene  lamp  I 

But  there  are  scouts  and  scouts. 

Bareheaded,  half  naked,  he  sped  through  the 
darkness  like  a  ghostly  specter  of  the  night.  He 
headed  for  a  point  some  fifty  yards  ahead  of  the 
bus.  He  knew  that  coming  from  behind  he  could 
not  catch  it  in  time.  He  was  running  to  intercept 


DOUBLE  DARE  47 

it,  not  to  overtake  it.  He  was  running  at  right 
angles  to  it  and  for  a  point  ahead  of  it.  Therein 
lay  his  only  chance,  and  not  a  very  good  chance. 
By  all  the  rules  there  was  no  chance.  By  the 
idivine  law  which  gives  power  to  desperation,  there 
was — a  little. 

He  ran  in  utter  abandonment,  in  frenzy. 
Some  power  outside  of  himself  bore  him  on. 
What  else?  Like  a  fiend,  with  arms  swinging 
and  head  swathed  in  a  crazy  rag,  he  moved 
through  wind  and  storm,  invincible,  indomitable! 
His  head  throbbed,  his  mouth  was  thick,  his  side 
ached,  but  he  seemed  beyond  the  power  of  these 
things  now.  Over  the  fences  he  went,  leaving 
shreds  of  clothing  blowing  in  the  gale,  and  tear- 
ing his  flesh  on  stone  walls.  In  the  madness  of 
despair,  and  in  the  insane  resolve  that  despair  be- 
gets, he  sped  on,  on,  on.  .  .  . 

The  bus  was  now  almost  even  with  his  course. 
He  changed  his  course  to  keep  ahead  of  it.  The 
lumbering  old  rattle-trap  gave  out  a  human  note 
how,  which  cheered  the  runner.  He  could  hear 
the  voices  within  it.  Very  faint,  but  still  he  could 
hear  them.  He  knew  he  could  not  make  himself 
heard  because  the  wind  was  the  other  way.  Be- 


48  TOM  SLADE'S 

sides  which,  he  had  not  the  voice  to  call.  His 
whole  frame  was  trembling;  he  could  not  have 
spoken  even. 

On,  on,  on.  The  trees  passed  him  like  trees 
seen  from  a  train  window.  He  turned  the  wet 
rag  in  his  mouth  to  draw  a  little  more  moisture 
from  it.  He  clutched  his  sweating  hands  tighter 
around  the  knife  and  twig.  He  shook  the  blow- 
ing, dripping  hair  from  his  eyes.  Forward,  /or- 
ward!  If  he  slackened  his  speed  now  he  would 
fall — collapse.  Like  a  top,  his  speed  kept  him 
up. 

Running  straight  ahead  he  would  about  run  in- 
to the  bus,  which  meant  that  it  was  gaining  on 
him.  Again  he  bent  his  course  to  a  point  ahead 
of  it.  Each  maneuver  of  this  kind  narrowed 
the  angle  between  himself  and  the  bus  until  soon 
he  would  be  pursuing  it.  The  angle  would  be  no 
more.  He  would  be  running  after  the  bus  and 
losing  ground. 

By  a  supreme,  final  spurt,  he  had  now  a  fait; 
chance  to  make  the  road  and  intercept  the  bus  be- 
fore it  reached  the  broad,  level  stretch  to  the 
bridge.  Should  it  reach  that  point  his  last  chance 
would  have  vanished. 


DOUBLE  DARE  49 

In  this  desperate  pass  he  tried  to  shout,  but 
found,  as  the  spent  runner  usually  does,  that  he 
was  almost  voiceless.  A  feeble  call  was  all  he 
could  manage,  and  on  the  contrary  wind  and  noise 
of  the  storm,  this  was  quite  inadequate.  He  could 
only  stumble  on,  borne  up  by  his  indomitable  will. 
He  was  weakening  and  he  knew  it. 

Yet  the  light  of  the  bus  so  near  him  gave  him 
fresh  hope,  and  with  it  fresh  strength.  It  seemed 
a  kind  of  perversity  of  fate  that  he  should  have 
reached  a  point  ordinarily  within  earshot,  and 
yet  could  not  make  his  approach  known. 

Just  as  the  bus  was  passing  his  course,  and 
when  it  was  perhaps  three  or  four  hundred  feet 
distant,  Hervey,  putting  all  his  strength  into  a 
final  spurt,  sped  forward  in  a  blind  frenzy  like 
one  possessed.  He  saw  the  bus  go  by;  heard  the 
voices  within  it.  Throwing  his  jack-knife  from 
him  in  a  kind  of  frantic,  maniacal  desperation, 
he  tried  to  scream,  and  finding  that  he  could  not, 
that  his  voice  was  dead  while  yet  his  limbs  lived, 
and  that  his  panting  throat  was  clogged  up  and 
his  nerves  jangled  and  uncontrollable,  he  bounded 
forward  in  a  kind  of  delirium  of  concentrated  ef- 
fort. 


50  TOM  SLADE'S 

Then,  suddenly,  his  foot  sank  into  a  hole. 
Perhaps  with  a  little  calmness  and  patience  he 
could  have  released  it.  But  in  his  wild  hurry  he 
tried  to  wrench  it  out.  A  sudden,  sharp  pain 
rewarded  this  insane  effort.  He  lost  his  balance 
and  went  sprawling  to  the  ground,  another  quick, 
excruciating  twinge  accompanying  his  fall,  and  lay 
there  on  the  soggy  ground  like  a  woodchuck  in 
a  trap. 

The  old  bus  went  lumbering  by. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  HERO 

THE  best  account  of  this  business  was  given 
by  Darby  Curren,  the  bus  driver,  or  Curry,  as  the 
boys  called  him. 

"We  was  \es'  comin'  enter  the  good  road,  we 
was,  and  I  was  jes'  about  goin'  ter  give  Lefty  a 
taste  o'  the  whip  ter  let  'er  know  ter  wake  up. 
Them  kids  inside  was  a  hollerin',  'Hit  'er  up!* 
'Step  on  'er/'  'Give  'er  the  gas!'  and  all  sech  non- 
sense. Well,  by  gorry,  I  never  seed  sech  a  night 
since  Noah  sailed  away  in  the  ark,  I  didn't.  So 
ye'll  understand  I  was'n'  fer  bein'  surprised  at 
nuthin'  I  see.  Ghosts  nor  nuthin'. 

"Well,  all  of  a  sudden  Lefty  begins  to  jump 
and  rear  step  sideways  and  was  like  to  drag  us 
all  in  the  ditch  when  what  do  I  see  but  that  there 
thing,  like  a  ghost  or  somethin'  it  was,  hangin'  on- 


52  TOM  SLADE'S 

ter  her  bridle.  It  was  makin'  some  kind  of  a 
noise,  I  dunno  what.  First  off  I  thought  plum 
certain  it  was  a  ghost.  Then  I  thought  it  was 
Hasbrooks'  boy,  that's  what  I  thought,  on  ac- 
count o'  him  havin'  them  fits  and  maybe  bein' 
buried  alive.  It  was  me  that  druv  the  hearse  fer 
'im  only  a  week  back.  And  I  says  then  to  Corby 
that  was  sittin'  with  me,  I  says,  no  son  o'  mine 
that  ever  had  them  fits  would  be  buried  in  three 
days,  not  if  I  knowed  it.  Safety  first,  I  said,  dead 
or  livin'. 

"Well,  I  hollered  to  him  what  he  wanted  there 
and  I  didn't  get  no  answer  so  I  got  down.  And 
all  the  rest  o'  that  howlin'  pack  got  out,  and  the 
two  men.  I  guess  they  thought  we  was  held  up, 
Jesse  James  like.  Only  the  little  codger  stayed 
inside. 

"Well,  there  he  was,  all  tore  and  bloody  and 
not  enough  duds  left  to  stop  up  a  rat-hole.  And 
we  hed  ter  force  his  hand  open,  he  was  hangin' 
onter  the  bridle  that  hard." 

Well,  that  was  about  all  there  was  to  it;  the 
rest  was  told  by  many  mouths.  They  forced 
open  his  grip  on  the  horse's  bridle  and  he  col- 
lapsed and  lay  unconscious  on  the  ground.  They 


DOUBLE  DARE  53 

lifted  him  and  carried  him  gently  into  the  bus, 
and  laid  him  on  one  of  the  long  seats.  His  left 
foot  was  shoeless  and  lacerated. 

There  were  a  couple  of  first  aid  scouts  in  the 
party,  and  they  did  what  they  could  for  him, 
bathing  his  face  and  trying  to  restore  some  meas- 
ure of  repose  to  his  jangled  nerves.  They  washed 
his  torn  foot  with  antiseptic  while  one  kept  a  cau- 
tious hold  upon  his  fluttering  pulse.  They  admin- 
istered a  heart  stimulant  out  of  their  kit,  and 
waited.  He  did  not  speak  nor  open  his  eyes, 
save  momentarily  at  intervals,  when  he  stared 
vacantly.  But  the  stout  heart  which  had  served 
him  in  his  superhuman  effort,  would  not  desert 
him  now,  and  in  a  little  while  the  brother  scout 
who  held  his  wrist  laid  it  gently  down  and,  in  a 
kind  of  freakish  impulse,  made  the  full  scout  sa- 
lute to  the  unconscious  figure.  That  seemed  odd, 
too,  because  at  camp  he  was  not  thought  to  be 
a  really  A-i  scout.  .  .  . 

The  two  scoutmasters  of  the  arriving  troops 
remained  in  the  bus  with  the  first  aid  scouts  and 
a  queer  little  codger  who  seemed  to  be  lame;  the 
others  walked.  Hervey  Willetts  had  ridden  on 
top  of  that  bus  (contrary  to  orders),  but  he  had 


54  TOM  SLADE'S 

never  before  lain  quietly  on  the  seat  of  it  and 
been  watched  by  two  scoutmasters.  He  was  al- 
ways being  watched  by  scoutmasters,  but  never 
in  just  this  way.  .  .  . 

So  the  old  bus  lumbered  on.  Soon  he  opened 
his  eyes  and  mumbled  something. 

"Yes,  my  boy,"  said  one  of  the  scoutmasters; 
"what  is  it?" 

"S — sma — smashed — br — ,"  he  said  incoher- 
ently. 

"Yes,  we'll  have  a  doctor  as  soon  as  we  reach 
camp,"  the  scoutmaster  said  soothingly.  "Try 
to  bear  it.  Don't  move  it  and  perhaps  it  won't 
pain  so." 

Hervey  shook  his  head  petulantly  as. if  it  were 
not  his  foot  he  spoke  of.  "Br— oken — the — br 

— look  out "     And  again  he  seemed  to  faint 

away. 

The  scoutmaster  was  puzzled. 
In  a  few  moments  he  spoke  again,  his  eyes 
closed.     But  the  word  he  spoke  was  clear. 
"Ahead,"  he  whispered. 

The  scoutmaster  was  still  puzzled  but  he 
opened  the  bus  door  and  called,  "Gilbert,  suppose 


DOUBLE  DARE  55 

you  and  a  couple  of  the  boys  go  on  ahead  and 
watch  your  step."  Then  to  the  other  scoutmaster 
he  said,  "I  think  he's  a  bit  delirious." 

So  it  happened  that  it  was  Gilbert  Tyson  of 
the  troop  from  Hillsburgh,  forty  or  fifty  miles 
down  the  line,  who  shouted  to  Darby  Curren  to 
stop,  that  the  bridge  had  been  washed  away. 

A  funny  part  of  the  whole  business  was  that  the 
little  duffer  in  the  bus,  who  was  attached  to  that 
troop,  thought  that  Tyson  was  the  hero  of  the  oc- 
casion. He  was  strong  on  troop  loyalty  if  on 
nothing  else.  So  far  as  he  was  concerned  (and 
he  was  very  much  concerned)  Tyson  had  saved 
the  lives  of  every  scout  in  those  two  troops.  Sub- 
sequent circumstances  favored  this  delusion  of  his. 
For  one  thing,  Hervey  Willetts  cared  nothing  at 
all  about  glory.  You  could  not  fit  the  mantle  of 
heroism  on  him  to  save  your  life.  He  never 
talked  about  the  affair,  he  was  seldom  at  camp, 
except  to  sleep,  and  he  did  not  know  how  he  had 
managed  the  last  few  yards  of  his  triumphal  er- 
rand. For  another  thing,  the  Hillsburgh  troop 
kept  to  themselves  more  or  less,  occupying  one  of 
the  isolated  "hill  cabins."  As  for  Tom  Slade,  he 


56  TOM  SLADE'S 

seldom  talked  much.  He  had  seen  too  many 
stunts  to  lose  his  head  over  a  new  one,  and  he 
was  a  poor  sort  of  publicity  agent  for  Hervey. 

Thus  Goliath,  as  the  little  codger  came  to  be 
known,  had  the  field  all  to  himself,  and  he  turned 
out  to  be  a  mighty  "hero  maker." 


CHAPTER  X 

PROVEN  A  SCOUT 

THE  bus  came  to  a  stop  a  hundred  feet  or  so 
from  the  ruined  bridge  and  its  passengers,  going 
forward  cautiously,  looked  down  shudderingly 
into  the  yawning  chasm.  For  a  few  seconds  the 
very  thought  of  what  might  have  happened  filled 
them  with  silent  awe. 

Goliath  was  the  first  to  speak.  "It's  good  Ty- 
son saved  our  lives,  isn't  it?"  he  piped  up.  "We'd 
all  be  dead,  wouldn't  we?" 

"Very  dead,"  said  one  of  the  scouts;  "so  dead 
we  probably  wouldn't  know  it." 

"Wouldn't  know  it?"  asked  Goliath,  puzzled. 

For  answer  the  scout  gave  him  a  bantering  push 
and  tousled  his  hair  for  him.  The  little  fellow 
took  refuge  with  one  of  the  scoutmasters. 

"Will  we  get  to  that  camp  soon?"  he  asked. 

"Pretty  soon,  I  hope.  Perhaps  some  one  will 
come  down  and  show  us  the  way." 

V 


5  8  TOM  SLADE'S 

"Are  we  lost?" 

"No,  we're  saved." 

"I'm  glad  we're  in  Tyson's  troop,  aren't  you?'* 

The  scoutmaster  laughed.     "You  bet,"  he  said. 

"Are  there  wild  animals  in  that  camp?" 

"Scouts  are  all  wild  animals,"  the  scoutmaster 
laughed  again. 

"Am  I  a  wild  animal?" 

"Surest  thing  you  know." 

"Are  you?" 

"That's  what." 

"Is  that  fellow  that's  inside  lying  on  the  seat — ? 
is  he  dead?" 

"No — not  dead.  But  you  mustn't  go  in  and 
bother  him." 

The  scene  about  the  bridge  was  one  of  utter 
ruin.  No  vestige  of  the  rustic  structure  was  left; 
it  had  probably  been  carried  away  in  the  first  over- 
whelming rush  of  water.  The  flood  had  subsided 
by  now,  and  only  a  trickle  of  water  passed  through 
the  gully.  In  this,  and  upon  the  sloping  banks 
and  the  wreckage  which  had  been  Ebon  Berry's 
garage,  the  scouts  climbed  about  and  explored 
the  scene  of  devastation. 

After  a  while  a  scoutmaster  and  several  boys 


DOUBLE  DARE  59 

arrived  from  camp  by  way  of  the  road.  They 
had  fought  their  way  through  mud  and  storm, 
bringing  stretchers  and  a  first  aid  kit,  in  expecta- 
tion of  finding  disaster. 

"This  is  not  a  very  cheerful  welcome  to  camp," 
one  of  the  scoutmasters  said.  "The  lake  broke 
through  up  yonder.  The  boys  have  checked  the 
flood  with  a  kind  of  makeshift  dam.  We  were 
afraid  you  had  met  with  disaster.  All  safe  and 
sound,  are  you?" 

"Oh,  yes,  several  of  our  boys  went  ahead  and 
one  of  them  shouted  for  us  to  stop " 

"That's  the  one  right  there,"  piped  up  the  little 
fellow.  "Maybe  he'll  get  a  reward,  hey?  May- 
be he'll  get  a  prize." 

"I  guess  we're  all  safe  and  sound,"  said  the 
other  arriving  scoutmaster;  "but  wet  and  hun- 

gry "_ 

"Especially  hungry,"  one  of  the  scouts  said. 

"That's  a  common  failing  here,"  said  the  man 
from  camp. 

"There's  a  funny  fellow  inside;  want  to  see 
him?"  piped  up  Goliath.  "He  hasn't  got  any 
clothes  hardly,  and  he  don't  know  what  he's  talk- 
ing about;  he  hasn't  got  any  conscience " 


60  TOM  SLADE'S 

"He  means  he's  unconscious,"  said  the  scout- 
master. "We  ran  into  him  on  the  road.  He 
really  hasn't  spoken  yet,  so  we  don't  know  any- 
thing about  him.  He  seems  a  kind  of  victim  of 
the  storm — crazed.  I  think  it  just  possible  he 
intended — Come  inside,  won't  you  ?  I  think  we'll 
have  to  take  him  with  us  on  a  stretcher.  I  sup- 
pose he  belongs  in  the  countryside  hereabouts." 

Thus  it  was  that  Hervey's  own  scoutmaster 
looked  down  upon  the  unconscious  form  of  his 
most  troublesome  and  unruly  scout.  It  was  no 
wonder  that  the  others  had  not  thought  him  a 
scout.  He  looked  more  like  a  juvenile  hobo. 
But  sticking  out  of  his  soaking  pocket  was  that 
one  indubitable  sign  of  identification,  his  rimless 
hat  cut  full  of  holes  and  decorated  with  its  variety 
of  badge  buttons.  Ruefully,  Mr.  Denny  lifted 
this  dripping  masterpiece  of  original  handiwork, 
and  held  it  between  his  thumb  and  forefinger. 

"This  is  one  of  our  choicest  youngsters,"  he 
said.  "He  is  in  my  own  troop.  The  last  time 
I  saw  him,  I  explicitly  told  him  not  to  leave  camp 
without  my  permission.  I  suppose  he  has  been 
on  some  escapade  or  other.  I  think  he's  about 
due  for  dismissal " 


DOUBLE  DARE  61 

"I  don't  think  he's  seriously  injured,  sir." 

"Oh,  no,  he  has  a  charmed  life.  Nine  lives 
like  a  cat,  in  fact.  Well,  we'll  cart  him  back." 

"He  doesn't  look  like  a  scout  fellow,"  Goliath 
said. 

"Well,  he  isn't  what  you  would  call  a  very  good 
scout  fellow,  my  boy,"  Mr.  Denny  said.  "Good 
scout  fellows  usually  know  the  law  and  obey  it, 
if  anybody  should  ask  you." 

"If  they  ask  me,  that's  what  I'll  tell  'em,"  said 
Goliath,  "hey?" 

"You  can't  go  far  wrong  if  you  tell  them  that," 
Mr.  Denny  said. 

"And  they  have  to  save  lives  too,  don't  they?" 
the  little  codger  piped  up. 

"Why,  yes,  you  seem  to  have  it  all  down  pat," 
Mr.  Denny  said. 

"We've  got  one  of  them  in  our  troop,"  tha 
little  fellow  said;  "he's  a  hero." 

"Well,  I  hope  he  reads  the  handbook  and  obeys 
the  scout  laws,"  said  Mr.  Denny  significantly. 

"I'm  always  going  to  have  good  luck,"  the  little 
fellow  said,  rather  irrelevantly.  "I  got  a  charm, 
too.  Want  to  see  it?" 

"I   think  we'd  better  see   if  we  can  get  to 


62  TOM  BLADE'S 

camp  and  find  some  hot  stew,"  said  Mr.  Denny. 

"That's  the  kind  of  a  charm  for  me,"  said  one 
of  the  scouts. 

So  it  fell  out  that  on  this  occasion,  as  on  most 
others,  Goliath  was  not  permitted  to  dig  down 
into  the  remote  recess  of  his  pocket  to  show  that 
wonderful  charm. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  NEW  SCOUT 

"WELL,"  laughed  Mr.  Baxton,  scoutmaster  of 
the  troop  to  which  that  little  brownie  of  a  boy 
belonged;  "since  we  have  a  hero,  we  may  as  well 
use  him.  Suppose  you  stay  here,  Gilbert,  and 
stop  any  vehicles  that  happen  along." 

"I  think  one  of  our  boys  from  camp  ought  to 
do  that,"  said  one  of  the  other  scoutmasters. 
"How  about  you,  Roy?" 

The  boy  addressed  was  of  a  compact,  natty 
build,  with  brown  curly  hair,  and  with  the  kind 
of  smile  which  was  positively  guaranteed  not  to 
wash  out  in  a  storm.  On  his  nose,  which  was  of 
the  aggressive  and  impudent  type,  were  five  freck- 
les, set  like  the  stars  which  form  the  big  dipper, 
and  his  even  teeth,  which  were  constantly  in  evi- 
dence, were  as  white  as  snow.  Across  the  bridge 

63 


$4  TOM  SLADE'S 

of  his  nose  was  a  mark  such  as  is  seen  upon  the 
noses  of  persons  who  wear  spectacles.  But  he 
wore  no  spectacles,  though  the  imprint  between 
his  laughing,  dancing  eyes  was  said  to  have  been 
caused  by  glasses — soda  water  glasses  which  were 
continually  tipped  up  against  his  nose  in  obedi- 
ence to  the  dictum  that  a  scout  shall  be  thorough. 

"We'll  both  stay,"  he  said;  "if  a  Ford  comes 
along  we'll  carry  it  across." 

"Well,  don't  leave  the  spot,  that's  all,"  said 
Mr.  Denny. 

"Far  be  it  from  such,"  said  Roy.  "If  we  go 
away  we'll  take  it  with  us.  We  should  worry  our 
young  lives  about  a  spot.  Only  save  some  stew 
for  us.  This  night  has  been  full  of  snap  so  far, 
it  reminds  me  of  a  ginger-snap.  We'll  sit  in  one 
of  those  old  cars,  hey?" 

Gilbert  Tyson  stared  at  Roy.  He  thought 
it  wouldn't  be  half  bad  to  stay  here  with  this 
sprightly  scout.  The  rest  of  the  party,  guided 
by  Mr.  Denny,  started  picking  their  way  along 
the  road  to  camp,  carrying  Hervey  on  a  stretcher. 
Darby  Curren,  the  stage-driver,  doubtless  tempted 
by  the  mention  of  hot  stew,  unharnessed  his  team 
and  leaving  the  horses  to  graze  in  the  adjacent 


DOUBLE  DARE  65 

field,  accompanied  the  party.  Roy  and  Gilbert 
Tyson  watched  the  departing  cavalcade  till  it  was 
swallowed  in  darkness. 

The  rain  had  ceased  now,  and  the  wind  was 
dying.  In  the  sky  was  a  little  silvery  break,  and 
by  its  light  flaky  clouds  were  seen  hurrying  away, 
all  in  one  direction  like  a  flock  of  birds.  It 
seemed  as  if  they  might  be  fleeing  quietly  from 
the  wreck  which  they  had  caused. 

"If  one  of  the  lights  on  those  cars  is  working, 
Ve  might  use  it  for  a  signal,"  Roy  said. 

The  cars  of  which  he  spoke  were  in  the  wreck- 
age of  Berry's  garage.  It  had  not  been  much  of 
a  garage,  hardly  more  than  a  shack,  in  fact,  and 
the  two  cars  which  now  stood  more  or  less  dam- 
aged and  exposed  to  the  weather,  had  been  its 
only  contents,  save  for  a  work-bench  and  a  few 
tools.  Mr.  Berry's  flivver  was  quite  beyond  re- 
pair, having  been  overturned  and  carried  some 
yards  and  apparently  dashed  against  the  bridge. 
There  is  no  wreck  in  the  world  like  the  wreck  of  a 
Ford. 

The  heavier  car  had  evidently  withstood  the 
first  onrush  of  water  and  had  made  a  stand  against 
the  flood,  its  wheels  deep  in  the  mud.  This  car; 


;66  TOM  SLADE'S 

was  a  roadster.  Its  side  curtains  were  up,  com- 
pletely enclosing  the  single  seat.  It  had  evidently 
been  used  since  the  rainy  weather  started.  It  was 
not  altogether  free  from  damage,  one  of  the 
fenders  was  bent,  the  bumper  in  front  almost 
touched  the  ground  on  one  side,  an  ornamental 
figurehead  had  been  broken  off  the  radiator  cap, 
and  the  face  of  the  radiator  was  dented.  This 
car  was  equipped  with  a  searchlight  fastened  on 
one  end  of  the  windshield,  and  as  Gilbert  Tyson 
handled  this  it  lighted,  sending  a  penetrating 
shaft  of  brightness  into  the  night. 

"It's  funny  the  battery  works  after  the  soak- 
ing it  got,"  said  Roy.  "Let's  keep  playing  that 
light  on  the  road.  Anybody  could  see  it  half  a 
mile  off." 

"Spell  danger  with  it,"  Gilbert  said. 

"Sure,  but  I  don't  think  anybody  from  camp 
will  be  along." 

"You  never  can  tell  who  knows  the  Morse  Code 
and  who  doesn't,"  Gilbert  said.  "Keep  playing 
it  on  the  road,  anyway." 

The  position  of  the  car  was  such  that  this 
searchlight  could  be  shown  upon  the  road  for  per- 
haps the  space  of  a  quarter  of  a  mile.  It  would 


DOUBLE  DARE  67 

have  been  quite  sufficient  to  give  pause  to  any  ap- 
proaching wagon  or  machine.  Roy  and  Gilbert 
climbed  into  the  car  and  sat  upon  the  seat  in  the 
cosy  enclosure  formed  by  the  curtains.  It  was 
quite  pleasant  in  there.  Since  it  was  more  agree- 
able to  be  fooling  with  the  light  than  to  let  it  shine 
steadily,  Roy  amused  himself  by  spelling  the  word 
DANGER  again  and  again. 

Pretty  soon  one  of  the  curtains  opened  and 
a  voice  said,  "What's  all  the  danger  about?" 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  GRAY  ROADSTER 

IT  was  Tom  Slade.  With  him  was  one  of 
the  best  all-around  scouts  in  camp,  patrol  leader 
of  the  Royal  Bengal  Tigers,  Eagle  Scout  and  win- 
ner of  the  Gold  Cross,  Bert  Winton. 

"What's  this?  The  annual  electrical  show?" 
he  asked.  "What's  the  matter  with  you  kids? 
Lost,  strayed  or  stolen?  Who's  this  fellow?" 

"Look  at  the  bridge,  it's  gone!"  said  Roy. 
"Don't  bother  to  look  at  it.  It  isn't  there  any- 
way. We're  a  couple  of  pickets — I  mean  senti- 
nels." 

"Well,  you  guided  us  through  the  woods,  any- 
way," said  Tom. 

"The  pleasure  is  ours,"  said  Roy.  "We  can  sit 
in  a  car  and  guide  people  through  the  woods; 

we're  real  heroes.     What's  the  news?" 

68 


DOUBLE  DARE  £9 

"Do  you  know  anything  about  the  stage?"  Tom 
asked. 

"We  know  all  about  it.  It's  right  over  there. 
This  fellow  comes  from  Hillsburgh.  He  got  out 
and  walked  ahead  and  stopped  it.  Didn't  you? 
Hervey  Willetts  blew  in  from  somewhere  or  other 
and  they're  carrying  him  to  camp.  Nothing  seri- 
ous. Got  any  candy?" 

"The  crowd  from  the  bus  is  all  right  then?" 

"Positively  guaranteed." 

"And  Hervey?" 

"He's  used  up  another  one  of  his  lives,  he's 
only  got  three  left  now.  He  must  have  hit  the 
trail  after  Westy  and  I  left  the  cove.  He's  go- 
ing to  get  called  down  to-morrow.  He  should 
worry,  he's  used  to  that." 

"Where  did  they  run  into  him?"  Tom  asked. 

"They  found  him  hanging  onto  one  of  the 
horses.  Curry  thought  he  was  a  ghost,  that's  all 
/  know.  This  fellow  went  ahead  and  shouted 
back  that  the  bridge  had  sneaked  off.  Didn't 
you,  Gilly?"  It  was  characteristic  of  Roy  that  he 
had  already  found  a  nickname  for  Gilbert  Tyson. 

"Hervey  say  anything?" 

"Mumbled  something,  I  don't  know  what." 


70  TOM  SLADE'S 

Tom  pondered  a  few  moments.  "Humph," 
said  he,  "that's  all  right." 

He  was  satisfied  about  Hervey.  The  other 
phases  of  the  episode  did  not  interest  him.  What 
scoutmasters  said  and  thought  did  not  greatly 
concern  him.  He  did  not  give  two  thoughts  to  the 
fact  that  Hervey  was  to  be  "called  down."  He 
had  known  scouts  to  be  called  down  before.  He 
had  known  credit  and  glory  to  miscarry.  Her- 
vey had  done  this  thing  and  that  was  all  that  the 
young  camp  assistant  cared  about.  It  would  not 
hurt  Hervey  to  be  called  down. 

The  picturesque  young  assistant,  the  very  spirit 
and  embodiment  of  adventure  and  romance,  made 
a  good  deal  of  allowance  for  visiting  scoutmasters 
and  handbook  scouts.  He  was  broad  and  kind 
as  the  trees  are  broad  and  kind;  exacting  about 
big  things,  careless  about  little  things.  They  knew 
all  about  scouting.  He  was  the  true  scout.  They 
had  their  manuals  and  handbooks.  The  great 
spirit  of  the  woods  was  his.  Hervey  had  made 
good.  Why  bother  more  about  that? 

So  he  just  said,  "Not  hurt  much,  huh?  Well, 
if  you  kids  want  to  go  up  to  camp,  we'll  take  care 
of  this  job." 


DOUBLE  DARE  71 

"Whose  car  is  this,  anyway?"  asked  Bert  Win- 
ton.  "I  never  saw  it  before.  It's  got  bunged 
up  a  little,  hey?" 

Tom  looked  at  the  roadster  rather  interestedly, 
whistling  to  himself. 

"It's  gray,"  said  Bert;  "I  never  saw  it  before." 

"It  wasn't  damaged  in  the  flood,"  said  Tom. 

"Why  wasn't  it?"  Roy  demanded. 

"Because  it's  facing  down  stream.  Anything 
that  hit  it  would  have  hit  it  in  the  back.  I  don't 
know  whose  it  is,  but  it  came  here  damaged,  if 
you  want  to  know." 

"Sherlock  Nobody  Holmes,  the  boy  detective," 
vociferated  Roy.  "We're  not  going  to  let  it 
worry  our  innocent  young  lives,  anyway,  are  we, 
Gilly?  Oh,  here  comes  somebody  along  the  road! 
The  plot  grows  thicker !" 

Tom  and  Winton  had  cut  through  the  woods, 
'direct  from  the  cove  where  they  had  been  assist- 
ing in  throwing  together  the  makeshift  dam.  For- 
tunately the  searchlight  had  made  their  journey 
easy.  The  figure  which  now  approached  along 
the  road  turned  out  to  be  Ebon  Berry,  owner  of 
the  wrecked  garage,  who  had  ventured  forth  from 
his  home  as  soon  as  the  storm  had  abated. 


y*  TOM  SLADE'S 

"Well,  'tain't  no  use  cryin'  over  spilled  milk,  as 
the  feller  says,"  he  observed  as  he  contemplated 
the  ruin  all  about  him. 

"You're  about  cleaned  out,  Mr.  Berry,"  said 
Winton.  "Whose  car  is  this?  I  never  saw  it 
before." 

"That?  Well,  now,  that  belongs  to  a  feller 
that  left  it  here,  oh,  I  dunno,  mebbe  close  onto  a 
week  ago.  I  ain't  seed  him  since.  Said  he'd  be 
back  for  it  nex'  day.  I  ain't  seed  nothin'  of  'im. 
I  guess  that's  what  you'd  call  a  racer,  now,  hain't 
it?" 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?"  Tom 
asked.  "It  was  damaged  when  it  came  here, 
wasn't  it?" 

"Yes,  it  were.  Well,  now,  I  don't  jes'  know 
what  I'd  auter  do.  Jes'  nothin',  I  guess." 

"  'Tisn't  going  to  do  it  any  good  buried  here  in 
the  mud,"  Tom  said. 

"Well,  'tain't  my  loss,  ony  six  dollars  storage." 

"Let's  give  it  the  once  over,"  Tom  said,  in  » 
way  of  half  interest.  The  efforts  of  the  night  had 
been  so  strenuous  that  his  casual  interest  in  the 
car  was  something  in  the  form  of  relaxation.  It 
interested  him  as  whittling  a  stick  might  have  in- 


DOUBLE  DARE  73 

terested  him.     "Take  a  squint  into  that  pocket 
there,  Roy." 

There  was  nothing  but  a  piece  of  cotton  waste 
in  the  flap  pocket  of  the  door  nearest  Roy,  but 
Gilbert  Tyson's  ransacking  of  the  other  one  re- 
vealed some  miscellaneous  paraphernalia;  there 
was  a  pair  of  motorist's  gloves,  a  road  map,  a 
newspaper,  and  two  letters. 

"Here,  I'll  give  you  the  light,"  said  Roy,  as 
Tyson  handed  these  things  to  Tom. 

"You  keep  the  light  on  the  road,"  said  Tom. 
"Let's  have  your  flashlight." 

"Now  we're  going  to  find  out  where  the  buried 
treasure  lays  hid — I  mean  hidden,"  said  Roy. 
"We're  going  to  unravel  the  mystery,  as  Pee- 
wee  would  say.  'Twas  on  a  dark  and  stormy 
night " 

"Let's  have  your  flashlight,"  said  Tom,  dryly. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  UNKNOWN  TRAIL 

GILBERT  TYSON  and  Roy  sat  in  the  car.  Ty- 
son had  removed  one  curtain  and  Tom,  standing 
close  by,  examined  the  papers  in  the  glare  of 
the  flashlight  which  Tyson  held.  Bert  Winton 
and  Mr.  Berry  peered  curiously  over  Tom's 
shoulder. 

The  map  was  of  the  usual  folding  sort,  and 
on  a  rather  large  scale,  showing  the  country  for 
about  forty  or  fifty  miles  roundabout. 

"There's  my  little  old  home  town,"  said  Ty- 
son, putting  his  finger  on  Hillsburgh,  "home, 
sweet  home." 

"And  here's  little  old  Black  Lake — before  the 
flood,"  said  Roy.  "There's  the  camp,  right 
there,"  he  added,  indicating  the  spot  to  Tyson; 
"there's  where  we  eat,  right  there." 

74 


DOUBLE  DARE  75 

"And  here's  a  trail  up  the  mountain,"  said  Tom. 
"See  that  lead  pencil  mark?  You  go  up  the  back 
way.  See?" 

So  there  then  was  indeed  a  way  up  that  frown- 
ing mountain  opposite  the  camp.  It  was  up  the 
less  precipitous  slope,  the  slope  which  did  not  face 
the  lake.  The  pencil  marking  had  been  made  to 
emphasize  the  fainter  printed  line. 

"Humph,"  said  Tom,  interested.  "There's  al- 
ways some  way  up  a  mountain.  .  .  .  Maybe  the 
light  we  saw  up  there  .  .  .  let's  have  a  squint 
at  that  letter,  will  you?" 

"Have  we  got  a  right  to  read  it?"  Winton 
asked. 

"We  may  be  able  to  save  a  life  by  it,"  said  Tom. 
"Sure." 

But  the  letter  did  not  reveal  anything  of  inter- 
est. It  was,  in  fact,  only  the  last  page  of  a  letter 
which  had  been  preserved  on  account  of  some  tri- 
fling memorandums  on  the  back  of  the  sheet. 
What  there  was  of  the  letter  read  as  follows : 

hope  you  will  come  back  to  England  some  time  or 
other.  I  suppose  America  seems  strange  after  all 
these  years.  You'll  have  to  be  content  with  shoot- 
ing Indians  and  buffaloes  now.  But  we'll  save  a 


76  TOM  BLADE'S 

fox  or  two  for  you.  And  don't  forget  how  to  ride 
horseback  and  we'll  try  not  to  forget  about  the  rattle 
wagons. 

REGGY. 


"That's  very  kind  of  Reggy,"  said  Roy.  "In- 
dians  and  buffaloes!  Poor  Indians.  If  he  ever 
comes  here,  we'll  teach  him  to  shoot  the  shutes. 
If  he's  a  good  shot  maybe  we'll  let  him  shoot  the 
rapids." 

"They  all  think  America  is  full  of  Indians," 
said  Winton. 

"Indian  pudding,"  said  Roy;  "mmm,  mmm!" 

"Well,  let's  see  the  newspaper,"  said  Tom. 
"I  don't  suppose  there's  anything  particular  in 
that.  Somebody  that  lived  in  England  has  been 
trying  to  go  up  the  mountain — maybe.  That's 
about  all  we  know.  We  don't  know  that,  even. 
But  anyway,  he  hasn't  come  back." 

"Maybe  he's  up  there  shooting  Indians  and 
buffaloes,"  said  Roy.  "We  should  worry." 

"When  was  it  he  came  here?"  Tom  asked. 
*  'Bout  several  days  ago,  I  reckon,"  said  Mr. 
Berry. 

"That  light's  been  up  there  all  summer,"  Win- 
ton  said. 


DOUBLE  DARE  77 

"Until  to-night,"  Tom  added. 

For  a  few  moments  no  one  spoke. 

"Well,  let's  see  the  paper,"  said  Tom,  as  he 
took  it  and  began  looking  it  over.  He  had  not 
glanced  at  many  of  the  headings  when  one  at- 
tracted his  attention.  Following  it  was  an  article 
3?hich  he  read  carefully. 

AUTOIST  KILLS  CHILD 


Negligence  and  Reckless  Driving  Responsible 
for  Accident 


DRIVER  ESCAPES 


An  accident  which  will  probably  prove  fatal  oc- 
curred on  the  road  above  Hillsburgh  yesterday  when 
a  car  described  as  a  gray  roadster  ran  down  and 
probably  mortally  injured  Willy  Corbett,  the  eight- 
year-old  son  of  Thomas  Corbett  of  that  place. 

Two  laborers  in  a  nearby  field,  who  saw  the  acci- 
dent, say  that  the  machine  was  running  on  the  left 
side  of  the  road  where  the  child  was  playing  and 
that  but  for  this  reckless  violation  of  the  traffic  law, 
the  little  fellow  would  not  have  been  run  down. 
The  driver  was  apparently  holding  to  the  left  of  the 
road,  because  the  running  was  better  there. 

Exactly  what  happened  no  one  seems  to  know. 
The  autoist  stopped,  and  started  again,  and  when 
the  two  laborers  had  reached  the  spot  where  the  child 


78  TOM  BLADE'S 

lay,  the  machine  was  going  at  the  rate  of  at  least 
forty  miles  an  hour. 

All  efforts  of  town  and  county  authorities  to  lo- 
cate the  gray  roadster  have  failed. 

"That's  only  about  ten  miles  from  where  I 
live,"  said  Gilbert  Tyson. 

Tom  seemed  to  be  thinking.  "Let's  look  at 
that  letter  again,"  said  he.  "Humph,"  he  added 
and  handed  it  back  to  Roy. 

"What?"  Roy  asked. 

"Nothing,"  said  Tom.  "I  guess  this  is  the 
car  all  right." 

"I  don't  see  it,"  said  Winton.  "Just  because 
it's  a  gray  roadster " 

"Well,  there  may  be  other  little  things  about 
it,  too,"  said  Tom. 

"About  the  car  or  the  letter  or  what?"  Winton 
asked. 

"Answered  in  the  affirmative,"  said  Roy. 

"Well,  anyway,"  Tom  said,  "it  looked  as  if  the 
owner  of  the  car  might  have  gone  up  the  moun- 
tain. And  he  hasn't  come  down.  At  least  he 
hasn't  come  after  his  car.  I'd  like  to  get  a  look 
at  him.  I'm  going  to  follow  that  trail  up  a 
ways " 


DOUBLE  DARE  79 

"To-night?" 

"When  did  you  suppose?  Next  week?  I'd 
like  to  find  out  where  the  trail  goes.  I'm  not 
saying  any  more.  The  bright  spot  we  saw  from 
camp  went  out  to-night.  And  here's  a  trail  on 
the  other  side  of  the  mountain  that  I  never  knew 
of.  Here's  a  man  that  had  a  map  of  it  and  he 
went  away  and  hasn't  come  back.  I'm  not  ask- 
ing anybody  to  go  with  me." 

"And  I'm  not  asking  you  to  let  me,"  said  Roy. 
"I'll  go  just  for  spite.  You  don't  think  you're 
afraid  of  me,  am  I,  quoth  he.  Now  that  we're 
here,  we  might  as  well  be  all  separated  together. 
What  do  you  say,  Gilly?  Yes,  kind  sir,  said  he. 
We'll  all  go,  what  do  you  say?  Indeed  we  will, 
they  answered  joyously " 

"Well,  come  ahead  then,"  said  Tom,  "and  stop 
your  nonsense." 

"Says  you,"  Roy  answered. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

ON  THE  SUMMIT 

THE  two  facts  uppermost  in  Tom's  mind  were 
these:  Some  one  had  marked  the  trail  up  that 
mountain,  and  the  patch  of  brightness  on  the  top 
of  the  mountain  which  had  lately  been  familiar 
to  the  boys  in  camp  had  that  very  night  disap- 
peared. 

The  owner  of  the  gray  roadster  had  not  come 
back  for  it.  He  might  be  the  fugitive  of  the 
newspaper  article,  and  he  might  not.  If  Tom 
had  any  particular  reason  for  thinking  that  he  was, 
he  did  not  say  so.  There  are  a  good  many  gray 
roadsters.  One  thing  which  puzzled  Tom  was 
this:  the  car  had  been  in  storage  at  Berry's  for 
a  few  days  at  the  very  most,  but  the  bright  patch 
on  the  mountain  had  been  visible  for  a  month  or 
more.  So  if  the  owner  of  this  machine  had  gone 

up  the  mountain,  at  least  he  was  not  the  origina* 

80 


SUDDENLY  ROY  CALLED,      LOOK  HERE!    HERE'S  A  BOARD!  " 
Tom  Slade's  Double  Dare.  Page  83 


DOUBLE  DARE  8r 

tor  of  the  bright  patch  there.  But  perhaps,  after 
all,  the  bright  patch  was  just  some  reflection. 

"Let's  have  another  look  at  that  letter,"  said 
Tom. 

He  read  it  again  with  an  interest  and  satisfac- 
tion which  certainly  were  not  justified  by  the 
simple  wording  of  the  missive. 

"Come  ahead,"  he  said;  "we  can't  get  much 
wetter  than  we  are  already.  We  might  as  well 
finish  the  night's  work.  I  guess  Mr.  Berry'U  take 
:are  of  the  searchlight." 

Mr.  Berry  had  no  intention  of  leaving  the  scene 
of  his  ruined  possessions  to  the  mercy  of  vandals. 
Moreover,  it  seemed  likely  that  with  the  abate- 
ment of  the  storm  the  neighboring  village  would 
turn  out  to  view  the  devastation. 

Once  the  end  of  the  trail  was  located,  the  ascent 
of  the  mountain  was  not  difficult,  and  the  four 
explorers  made  their  way  up  the  comparatively 
easy  slope,  hindered  only  by  trees  which  had  fal- 
len across  the  path.  The  old  mountain  which 
frowned  so  forbiddingly  down  upon  the  camp 
across  the  lake  was  very  docile  when  taken  from 
behind.  It  was  just  a  big  bully. 

As  Tom  and  the  three  scouts  approached  the 


82  TOM  SLADE'S 

summit,  the  devastation  caused  by  the  storm  be* 
came  more  and  more  appalling.  Great  trees  had 
been  torn  up  as  if  they  had  been  no  more  than 
house  plants.  These  had  fallen,  some  to  the 
ground  and  some  against  other  trees,  their  spread- 
ing roots  dislodging  big  rocks  which  had  gone 
crashing  down  against  other  trees.  Some  of  these 
rocks  remained  poised  where  the  least  agitation 
would  release  them. 

Nature  cannot  be  disturbed  like  this  without 
suffering  convulsions  afterwards,  and  the  contin- 
ual low  noises  of  dripping  roots  and  of  trees  and 
branches  sinking  and  settling  and  falling  from 
temporary  supports,  gave  a  kind  of  voice  of  suf- 
fering and  anguish  to  the  wilderness. 

These  strange  sounds  were  on  every  hand  and 
they  made  the  wrecked  and  drenched  woods  to 
seem  haunted.  Now  and  again  a  sound  almost 
human  would  startle  the  cautious  wayfarers  as  they 
picked  their  way  amid  the  sodden  chaos.  In 
places  it  seemed  as  if  the  merest  footfall  would 
dislodge  some  threatening  bowlder  which  would 
blot  their  lives  out  in  a  second.  And  the  ragged, 
gaping  chasms  left  by  roots  made  the  soggy 
ground  uncertain  support  for  yards  about. 


DOUBLE  DARE  83 

Toward  the  summit  the  path  was  quite  obliter- 
ated under  the  jumble  of  the  wreckage,  and  the 
party  clambered  over  and  threaded  their  way 
amid  this  debris  until  the  tiny  but  cheering  lights 
of  Temple  Camp  were  visible  far  down  across 
the  lake.  There  the  two  arriving  troops  were 
about  finishing  their  hot  stew!  Far  down  and 
nearer  than  the  camp  was  a  moving  speck  of 
light;  some  one  was  on  the  lake.  The  boys  did 
not  venture  too  near  that  precipitous  descent. 

Suddenly  Roy,  who  had  been  walking  along 
a  fallen  tree  trunk,  called,  "Look  here!  Here's 
aboard!" 

He  had  hauled  it  out  from  under  the  trunk, 
and  the  others,  approaching,  looked  at  it  with 
interest.  In  all  that  wild  desolation  there  was 
something  very  human  about  a  fragment  of  board. 
Somehow  it  connected  that  unknown  wilderness 
with  the  world  of  men. 

"That  didn't  come  up  here  by  itself,"  said  Tom. 

"You're  right,  it  didn't,"  said  Tyson. 

"Here's  a  rusty  nail  in  it,"  Roy  added. 

The  board,  unpainted  and  weather  beaten  as  it 
was,  seemed  singularly  out  of  place  in  that  re- 
mote forest. 


84  TOM  SLADE'S 

Suddenly  Roy  grasped  Tom's  arm;  his  hand 
trembled;  his  whole  form  was  agitated. 

"Look!"  he  whispered  hoarsely.  "Look — 
'down  there — right  there.  See?  Do  you  see  it? 
Right  under  .  .  .  Oh,  boy,  it's  awful.  .  .  ." 


CHAPTER  XV 

A  SCOUT  IS  THOROUGH 

SCOUT  though  he  was,  Roy's  hand  trembled 
as  he  passed  his  flashlight  to  Tom.  He  could  not, 
for  his  life,  point  that  flashlight  himself  at  the 
grewsome  object  which  he  had  seen  in  the  dark- 
ness. 

Lying  crossways  underneath  the  trunk  was  the 
body  of  a  man,  his  face  looking  straight  up  into 
the  sky  with  a  fixed  stare,  and  a  soulless  grin  upon 
his  ashen  face.  Somewhere  nearby,  mud  was 
dripping  from  an  exposed  root,  and  the  earth 
laden  drops  as  they  fell  one  by  one  into  the  rag- 
ged cavity  gave  a  sound  which  simulated  a  kind 
of  unfeeling  laughter.  It  seemed  as  if  that  stark, 
staring  thing  might  be  chuckling  through  its  rigid, 
grinning  mouth.  Roy's  weight  and  movement  on 
the  trunk  communicated  a  slight  stir  to  the  ghastly 
figure  and  its  head  moved  ever  so  little.  ,  ,  . 

8s 


86  TOM  SLADE'S 

"No,"  said  Tom,  anticipating  Winton's  ques« 
tion;  "he's  dead.  Get  off  the  log,  Roy." 

"Well,  I  wish  that  dripping  would  stop,  any- 
way," said  Winton. 

Tom  approached  the  figure,  the  others  follow- 
ing and  standing  about  in  silence  as  he  examined 
it.  They  all  avoided  the  log,  the  slightest  move- 
ment of  which  had  an  effect  which  made  them 
shudder. 

Raising  one  cold,  muddy  hand,  Tom  felt  the 
wrist,  laying  it  gently  down  again.  There  was 
not  even  a  faint,  departing  vestige  of  life  in  tin 
trapped,  crushed  body. 

"Is  it  him?"  Gilbert  Tyson  asked  in  a  sub* 
dued  tone. 

"Guess  so,"  said  Tom,  kneeling. 

The  others  stood  back  in  a  kind  of  fearful 
respect,  watching,  waiting.  .  .  .  Now  and  then 
a  leaf  or  twig  fell.  And  once,  some  broken  tree 
limb  crackled  as  it  adjusted  itself  in  its  fallen 
estate.  And  all  the  while  the  mud  kept  dripping, 
dripping,  dripping.  .  .  . 

Lying  on  the  dead  man's  open  coat,  as  if  they 
had  fallen  from  his  pocket,  were  two  cards  and 
a  letter.  These  Tom  picked  up  and  glanced  at, 


DOUBLE  DARE  87 

tising  Roy's  flashlight.  One  of  the  cards  was  an 
automobile  registration  card.  The  other  was  a 
driver's  license  card.  They  were  both  of  the 
State  of  New  Jersey  and  issued  to  Aaron  Har- 
lowe.  The  letter  had  been  stamped  but  not 
mailed.  It  was  addressed  to  Thomas  Corbett, 
North  Hillsburgh,  New  York.  This  name  tallied 
with  the  name  of  the  child's  father  in  the  news- 
paper. 

Here  was  pretty  good  proof  that  the  man  who 
had  met  death  here  upon  this  wild,  lonely  moun- 
tain was  none  other  than  the  owner  of  the  gray 
roadster,  the  coward  who  had  fled  from  the  con- 
sequences of  his  negligence,  and  turned  it  into  a 
black  crime ! 

"Are  you  going  to  open  it?"  Bert  Winton 
asked. 

"I  guess  no  one  has  a  right  to  do  that  but  the 
coroner,"  Tom  said.  "We  have  no  right  to  move 
the  body  even." 

"Well,"  said  Bert  Winton,  his  awe  at  the 
sight  of  death  somewhat  subsiding  at  thought  of 
the  victim's  cowardice,  "there's  an  end  of  Aaron 
Harlowe  who  ran  over  Willie  Corbett  with  a 
gray  roadster  and " 


;88  TOM  BLADE'S 

"And  was  going  to  send  a  letter  to  the  kid's 
father,"  concluded  Tom.  "And  here's  his  foot- 
print, too.  I'd  like  to  take  his  shoe  off  and  fit  fc 
into  this  footprint,"  Tom  said. 

"What  for?"  Roy  asked. 

"Just  to  make  sure." 

But  Tom  soon  dismissed  that  thought  and  the 
others  did  not  relish  it.  Moreover,  Tom  knew 
that  the  law  prohibited  him  from  doing  such  a 
thing. 

With  the  mystery,  as  it  seemed,  cleared  up, 
there  remained  nothing  to  do  but  explore  the 
immediate  vicinity  for  the  sake  of  scout  thorough- 
ness. Their  search  revealed  other  loose  boards, 
a  few  cooking  utensils  and  finally  the  utter  wreck 
of  what  must  have  been  a  very  primitive  and  tiny 
shack.  This  was  perhaps  a  couple  of  hundred  feet 
from  the  body  and  below  the  highest  point  of  the 
mountain.  It  was  conceivable  that  a  fire  here 
might  have  shown  in  a  faint  glare  down  at  camp. 
The  blaze  could  not  have  been  seen.  Amid  the 
ruin  of  the  shack  were  a  few  rough  cooking  uten- 
sils. The  soaking  land  and  the  darkness  effec- 
tually concealed  the  charred  remnants  of  any  fire. 


DOUBLE  DARE  89 

"Well,  he'll  never  shoot  any  buffaloes  and  wild 
Indians,"  said  Roy. 

Tom  replaced  the  cards  and  letter,  or  rather 
put  them  in  the  dead  man's  pocket  for  fear  the 
wind  might  blow  them  away,  though  being  under 
the  lee  of  the  trunk  they  had  been  somewhat  pro- 
tected. Then  the  party  retraced  their  path  down 
the  mountain  and,  circling  its  lower  reaches,  found 
themselves  at  last  upon  the  lake  shore. 

Thus  ended  the  work  of  that  fretful  night,  a 
night  ever  memorable  at  Temple  Camp,  a  night 
of  death  and  devastation.  The  mighty  wind 
which  smote  the  forest  and  drove  the  ruinous 
waters  before  it,  died  in  the  moment  of  its  tri- 
umph. The  sodden,  sullen  heaven  which  had  cast 
its  gloom  and  poured  its  unceasing  rain,  rain,  rain, 
upon  the  camp  for  two  full  weeks,  cleared  and  the 
edges  of  the  departing  clouds  were  bathed  in  the 
silver  moonlight.  And  the  next  morning  the 
bright,  merry  sun  arose  and  smiled  down  upon 
Temple  Camp  and  particularly  on  Goliath  who 
sat  swinging  his  legs  from  the  springboard. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  WANDERING  MINSTREL 

HE  was  defying,  single  handed,  half  a  dozen 
or  more  scouts  who  were  flopping  about  in  row- 
boats  under  and  about  the  springboard.  They 
had  just  rowed  across  after  an  inspection  of  the 
washed-out  cove,  and  were  resting  on  their  oars, 
jollying  the  little  fellow  whose  legs  dangled  above 
them. 

"Where  did  that  big  feller  go?"  he  asked. 

"To  the  village." 

"He  found  a  dead  man  last  night,  didn't  he?" 

"That's  what  he  did." 

"I  know  his  name,  it's  Slade." 

"Right  the  first  time.    You're  a  smart  fellow." 

"I  like  that  big  feller.  He  says  Gilbert  Tyson 
is  all  right;  I  asked  him.  I  bet  Gilbert  Tyson  can 
beat  any  of  you  fellers.  He's  in  my  troop,  he  is. 

I  bet  you  were  never  in  a  hospital." 

90 


DOUBLE  DARE  91 

"I  bet  you  were  never  in  prison,"  a  scout  ven- 
tured. 

"I  bet  you  never  got  hanged,"  Goliath  piped  up. 

"I  bet  I  did,"  another  scout  said. 

"When?" 

"To-morrow  afternoon." 

"To-morrow  afternoon  isn't  here  yet,"  Goliath 
said,  triumphantly. 

"Sure  it  is,  this  is  to-morrow  afternoon.  Some- 
body told  me  yesterday.  If  it  was  to-morrow  af- 
ternoon yesterday  it  must  be  to-day." 

"Posolutely,"  said  Roy  Blakeley.  "What  was 
true  yesterday  is  true  to-day,  because  the  truth  is 
always  the  same — only  different." 

"Sure,"  concurred  another  scout,  "to-morrow, 
to-day  will  be  yesterday.  It's  as  clear  as  mud." 

Goliath  thought  for  a  few  moments  and  then 
made  a  flank  attack. 

"Gilbert  Tyson  is  a  hero,"  he  said;  "he  saved 
the  lives  of  everybody  in  that  bus — he  did." 

"That's  where  he  was  wrong,"  said  Roy  Blake- 
ley;  "a  scout  is  supposed  to  be  generous.  He 
mustn't  be  all  the  time  saving." 

"Isn't  it  good  to  save  lives?"  Goliath  de- 
manded. 


£2  TOM  SLADE'S 

"Sure,  but  not  too  many.  A  scout  that's  all 
the  time  saving  gets  to  be  stingy." 

Goliath  pondered  a  moment. 

"Gilly  is  all  right  but  he's  not  a  first-class  scout," 
said  Roy. 

"A  first-class  scout,"  said  Westy  Martin,  "is 
not  supposed  to  turn  back.  Gilbert  turned  back. 
Then  he  shouted  'stop/  Law  three  says  that  a 
scout  is  courteous.  He  should  have  said  'please 
stop.'  Law  ten  says  that  a  scout  must  face  dan- 
ger, but  he  turned  his  back  to  it.  He  wasn't 
thinking  about  the  danger,  all  he  was  thinking 
about  was  the  bus.  All  he  was  thinking  about  was 
being  thrifty — saving  lives.  I've  known  fellows 
like  that  before.  It's  just  like  striking  an  average; 
a  scout  that  strikes  an  average  is  a  coward." 

"You  mean  if  the  average  is  small?"  said  Roy.: 

"Oh,  sure." 

"Because  it  all  depends,"  Roy  continued;  "a 
scout  isn't  supposed  to  fight,  is  he?  But  he  cari 
strike  an  attitude.  The  same  as  he  can  hit  a  trail. 
Suppose  he  hits  a  poor,  little  thin  trail " 

"Then  he's  a  coward,"  said  Connie  Bennett. 

"Not  necessarily,"  said  Westy,  "because " 


"A  scout  has  to  be  obedient!     You  can't  deny 


DOUBLE  DARE  93 

that!"  Goliath  nearly  fell  off  the  springboard  in 
his  excitement.  "That  other  feller  is  going  to  get 
sent  away  because  I  heard  a  man  say  so  1" 

This  was  not  exactly  an  answer  to  the  well-rea- 
soned arguments  of  Roy  and  his  friends,  but  it 
had  the  effect  of  making  them  serious.  Moreover, 
just  at  that  juncture,  Mr.  Carroll,  scoutmaster  of 
the  Hillsburgh  troop,  appeared  and  very  gently 
ordered  Goliath  from  his  throne  upon  the  spring- 
board. The  little  fellow's  mind  had  been  some- 
what unsettled  by  the  skillful  reasoning  of  his  new 
friends.  He  trotted  off  in  obedience  to  Mr.  Car- 
roll's injunction  that  he  go  in  and  take  off  his  wet 
shoes. 

"Boys,"  said  the  new  scoutmaster,  in  a  pleasant, 
confidential  tone  which  won  all,  "I  want  to  say 
a  word  to  you  about  the  little  brownie  we  have 
with  us.  You'll  find  him  an  odd  little  duck.  I'm 
hoping  to  make  a  scout  of  him  some  time  or 
other.  Meanwhile,  we  have  to  be  careful  not 
to  get  him  excited.  It's  a  rule  of  our  troop  to 
take  with  us  camping  each  summer,  some  little 
needy  inmate  of  an  orphan  home  or  hospital  or 
some  place  of  the  sort,  and  give  him  the  benefit 
of  the  country  air.  This  little  fellow  is  our  charge 


94  TOM  SLADE'S 

this  year.  You  won't  talk  to  him  about  his  past, 
because  we  want  him  to  forget  that.  We  want 
to  take  him  home  well  and  strong  and  I  look  to 
you  for  help.  Make  friends  with  him  and  get 
him  interested  in  things  about  camp.  His  heart 
isn't  strong;  be  careful." 

Good  scouts  that  they  were,  they  needed  no 
more  than  these  few  words.  Temple  Camp 
usually  took  new  boys  as  it  found  them,  anyway, 
concerning  itself  with  their  actions  and  not  with 
the  history  of  their  lives.  Half  the  scouts  in  the 
big  summer  community  didn't  know  where  the 
other  half  came  from,  and  cared  less.  From  every 
corner  of  the  land  they  came  and  all  they  knew 
or  cared  about  each  other  was  limited  to  their  in- 
tercourse at  camp. 

"You  don't  suppose  that's  true,  do  you?"  one 
of  them  asked  when  Mr.  Carroll  had  gone. 

"What?    About  Willetts?" 

"Sure." 

"Dare  say.  He's  about  due  for  the  G.  B.,  I 
guess.  But  if  you  want  to  cook  a  fish  you've  got 
to  catch  him  first." 

"Where  is  he,  anyway?"  one  asked.  "I 
thought  his  foot  was  so  bad." 


DOUBLE  DARE  95 

"I  saw  him  limping  off  this  morning,  that's  all  / 
know,"  another  said. 

"It  would  take  more  than  a  lame  ankle  to  keep 
him  at  camp,"  said  Dorry  Benton  of  Roy's  pa- 
trol. "Did  you  see  that  crazy  stick  he  was  using 
for  a  cane  ?" 

"The  wandering  minstrel,"  another  scout  com- 
mented. 

"He  stands  pat  with  Slady,  all  right." 

"Gee,  you  can't  help  liking  the  fellow." 

"I  have  to  laugh  at  him,"  Westy  said. 

"You  can't  pal  with  him,  that's  one  thing," 
another  observed. 

"That's  because  you  can't  keep  up  with  him; 
even  Mr.  Denny  has  a  sneaky  liking  for  him." 

"Do  you  know  what  one  of  his  troop  told 
me?  He  told  me  he  always  wears  that  crazy 
hat  to  school  when  he's  home.  Some  nut  1*' 

"Reckless,  happy-go-lucky,  that's  what  he  is." 

"Come  on  over  and  let's  look  on  the  bulletin 
board." 

"They  all  strolled,  half  idly,  to  the  bulletin 
board  which  stood  outside  the  main  pavilion.  It 
was  a  rule  of  camp  that  every  scout  should  read 
the  announcements  there  each  afternoon.  Then 


96  TOM  SLADE'S 

there  would  be  no  excuse  for  ignorance  of  im- 
portant matters  pertaining  to  camp  plans.  Upon 
the  board  were  tacked  several  announcements,  a 
hike  for  the  morrow,  letters  uncalled  for,  etc. 
Conspicuous  among  these  was  the  following: 

Hervey  Willetts  will   report  immediately   to  his 
scoutmaster  at  troop's  cabin,  upon  his  arrival  at  camp. 

WM.  C.  DENNY. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

TOM'S  INTEREST  AROUSED 

ON  that  same  day  a  solemn  little  procession 
picked  its  way  carefully  down  the  trail  from  the 
storm-wrecked  summit  of  the  mountain.  Four 
of  the  county  officials  bore  a  stretcher  over 
which  was  tied  a  white  sheet.  With  the  party 
was  Tom  Slade  who  had  guided  the  authorities 
to  the  grewsome  discovery  of  the  previous  night. 
In  this  work,  and  in  the  subsequent  assistance 
which  he  rendered,  he  was  absent  from  camp 
throughout  the  day.  This  unpleasant  business 
had  not  been  advertised  in  camp. 

Of  the  tragic  end  of  Aaron  Harlowe  nothing 
more  was  known.  Several  days  previously  he  had 
come  to  the  neighborhood  in  his  gray  roadster, 
a  fugitive,  with  the  stigma  of  cowardice  upon  his 
conscience.  He  had  tried  to  compromise  with  his 


98  TOM  SLADE'S 

conscience,  as  it  appeared,  by  enclosing  a  sum  of 
money  in  an  envelope  and  addressing  it  to  the 
father  of  the  child  he  had  run  down.  But  his 
death  had  prevented  the  mailing  of  this.  The  tell- 
tale finger  of  accusation  was  pointed  at  him  from 
the  newspaper  which  was  in  his  car. 

His  identity  was  established  to  the  satisfaction 
of  the  authorities  by  the  name  upon  the  license 
and  registration  cards  found  with  his  body.  Why 
he  had  ascended  the  mountain  and  remained  there 
several  days  only  to  be  crushed  to  death  in  the 
storm,  no  one  could  guess.  The  conclusion  of  the 
authorities  was  that  he  was  crazed  by  fear  and 
remorse.  This  seemed  not  improbable,  for  his 
weak  attempt  to  make  amends  with  money  showed 
him  to  be  not  altogether  bad. 

With  the  taking  of  the  body  by  the  authorities, 
Tom's  participation  in  the  tragic  business  ended. 
Yet  there  were  one  or  two  things  which  stuck 
in  his  mind  and  puzzled  him.  There  had  been 
a  light  on  the  mountain  before  ever  this  Harlowe 
had  gone  up  there.  There  had  been  a  crude 
shack  near  the  summit.  The  light  had  disap- 
peared amid  the  storm.  The  boys,  watching  the 
storm  from  the  pavilion,  had  seen  the  light  disap- 


DOUBLE  DARE  99 

pear.  Did  Harlowe,  therefore,  climb  the  moun- 
tain to  escape  man  or  to  seek  man?  Harlowe's 
life  went  out  in  that  same  tempestuous  hour  when 
the  light  went  out.  But  how  came  the  light 
there?  And  where  was  the  originator  of  it? 

One  rather  odd  question  Tom  asked  the  au- 
thorities and  got  very  little  satisfaction  from 
them.  "Do  you  notice  any  connection  between 
that  article  in  the  newspaper  and  the  letter  the 
dead  man  got  from  England?"  he  asked. 

"No  manner  uv  connection;  leastways  none  as 
I  kin  see,"  said  the  sheriff.  "The  paper  showed 
what  he  done;  the  map  showed  whar  he  went; 
the  license  cards  showed  who  he  was.  And  thar 
ye  are,  sonny,  whole  thing  sure's  gospel." 

"It's  funny  about  the  light,"  said  Tom,  re- 
spectfully. 

"I  ain't  botherin'  my  head  'baout  no  lights,  son. 
I  found  Aaron  Harlowe  'n  that's  enough,  hain't 
it?" 

It  was  in  Tom's  thoughts  to  say,  "You  didn't 
find  him,  /  found  him."  But  out  of  respect  for 
the  formidable  badge  which  the  sheriff  wore  on 
one  strand  of  his  suspenders,  he  refrained. 

The  next  morning  the  newspapers  told  with 


too  TOM  SLADE'S 

conspicuous  headlines,  the  tragic  sequel  of  Aaron 
Harlowe's  escape.  "Found  on  lonely  mountain" 
they  said.  "Fugitive  motorist  killed  in  storm/' 
one  of  the  write-ups  was  headed:  "Storm  wreaks 
vengeance  on  autoist"  which  was  one  of  the  best 
headings  of  the  lot.  "Sheriff's  posse  makes  grew* 
some  find"  was  another.  And  all  told  how  Aaron 
Harlowe,  fleeing  guiltily  from  his  crime,  had  met 
his  fate  in  the  storm-tossed  wilds  of  that  frowning 
mountain.  They  dwelt  on  the  justice  of  Provi- 
dence; they  made  the  storm  a  kind  of  avenging 
hero.  It  was  pretty  good  stuff. 

And  that,  as  I  said  in  the  beginning,  was  where 
the  public  interest  in  Aaron  Harlowe  ended.  The 
rest  of  the  strange  business  was  connected  with 
Temple  Camp  and  the  scouts,  and  never  got  into 
the  papers.  .  .  . 

i 

It  was  exactly  like  Tom  Slade  that  something 

should  interest  him  in  this  tragic  episode  which 
did  not  interest  the  authorities.  He  left  them, 
quite  unsatisfied  in  his  own  mind,  and  with  sorrm 
kind  of  a  bee  in  his  bonnet. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

TRIUMPH    AND 

AT  about  the  time  that  Tom  was  starting  back 
to  camp,  rather  thoughtful  and  preoccupied,  Her- 
vey  Willetts  was  arriving  at  camp,  not  at  all 
thoughtful  or  preoccupied. 

His  ankle  was  strained  and  bruised,  and  he 
limped.  But  his  rimless  hat  of  many  holes  and 
button-badges  was  perched  sideways  toward  the 
back  of  his  head  and  had  a  new  and  piquant  charm 
by  reason  of  being  faded  and  water  soaked.  Put- 
ting not  his  trust  in  garters,  which  had  so  often 
betrayed  him,  he  had  fastened  a  string  to  his  left 
stocking  by  means  of  an  old  liberty  loan  pin.  The 
upper  end  of  this  string  was  tied  to  a  stick  which 
he  carried  over  his  shoulder,  so  he  had  only  to 
exert  a  little  pressure  on  the  stick  in  front  to 

adjust  his  stocking. 

Ml 


:io2  TOM  SLADE'S 

He  had  evidently  been  to  see  one  of  his  farmer 
friends,  for  he  was  eating  a  luscious  red  tomato, 
and  fate  decreed  that  the  last  of  this  should  be 
ready  for  consumption  just  as  he  was  passing 
within  a  few  yards  of  the  bulletin  board.  For  a 
moment  a  terrible  conflict  raged  within  him. 
Should  he  despatch  the  remainder  of  the  tomato 
into  his  mouth,  or  at  the  bulletin  board?  The 
small  remnant  was  red  and  mushy  and  dripping — » 
and  the  bulletin  board  won* 

Brandishing  the  squashy  missile,  he  uttered  his 
favorite  passwords  to  good  luck, 

One  for  courage 
One  for  spunk 
One  to  take  aim 
And  then 

Suddenly  he  bethought  him  of  an  improvement, 
Sticking  the  remnant  of  tomato  on  the  end  of  his 
stick,  he  swung  it  carefully. 

One  for  courage 
One  for  spunk 
One  to  take  aim 
And  then— KERPLUNK! 

[Those  magic  words  were  intended,  especially, 


DOUBLE  DARE  103 

for  use  in  despatching  tomatoes  and  they  never 
failed  to  make  good.  There,  upon  the  bulletin 
board  was  a  vivid  area  which  looked  like  the  mid- 
day sun.  From  it  trickled  an  oozy  mass,  down 
over  the  list  of  uncalled  for  letters,  straight 
through  the  prize  awards  of  yesterday,  obliterat- 
ing the  Council  Call,  and  bathing  the  list  of  new 
arrivals  in  soft  and  pulpy  red.  The  "hike  for  to- 
morrow," as  shown,  was  through  a  crimson  sea. 

Hervey  approached  for  a  closer  glimpse  of  his 
triumph.  No  other  incentive  would  have  taken 
him  so  close  to  that  prosy  bulletin  board.  He 
had  vaulted  over  it  but  never  read  it.  But  now 
in  the  moment  of  supreme  victory  he  limped  for- 
ward, like  an  elated  artist,  to  inspect  his  work. 

There,  in  front  of  him,  with  a  little  red  river 
flowing  down  across  the  middle  of  it,  was  the 
ominous  sentence. 

Hervey  Willetts  will  report  immediately   to  his 
scoutmaster  at  troop's  cabin  upon  his  return  to  camp. 

WM.  C.  DENNY. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

HERVEY  SHOWS  HIS  COLORS 

"Ir  I  hadn't  fired  the  tomato  I  wouldn't  hav£ 
known  about  that,"  said  Hervey.  Which  fact, 
to  him,  fully  justified  the  juicy  bombardment. 
"That  shows  how  you  never  can  tell  what's  going 
to  happen  next."  And  this  was  certainly  true 
of  Hervey. 

But  to  do  him  justice,  what  was  going  to  happen 
next  never  worried  him.  He  took  things  as  they 
came.  He  was  not  the  one  to  sidestep  an  issue. 
The  ominous  notice  signed  by  his  scoutmaster 
had  the  effect  of  directing  his  ambling  course  to 
that  officer's  presence,  on  which  detour,  he  might 
encounter  new  adventures.  To  reach  his  troop's 
cabin  he  would  have  to  pass  the  cooking  shack 
where  a  doughnut  might  be  speared  with  a  stick. 
All  was  for  the  best.  He  would  as  lief  go  to 

troop  cabin  as  anywhere  else.  .  .  . 

104 


DOUBLE  DARE  105 

In  this  blithe  and  carefree  spirit,  he  ap- 
proached the  rustic  domicile  which  he  seldom 
honored  by  his  presence,  singing  one  of  those 
snatches  of  a  song  which  were  the  delight  of 
camp,  and  which  rounded  out  his  role  of  wander- 
ing minstrel : 

Oh,  there  is  no  place  like  the  old  camp-fire, 

As  all  the  boy  scouts  know; 
And  the  best  little  place  is  home,  sweet  home — 

When  there  isn't  any  other  place  to  go,  go,  go. 
When  there  isn't  any  other  place  to  go. 

Mr.  Denny,  standing  in  the  doorway  of  the 
cabin,  contemplated  him  with  a  repressed  smile. 
"Hervey,"  he  could  not  help  saying,  "since  you 
think  so  well  of  the  camp-fire,  I  wonder  you  don't 
choose  to  see  more  of  it." 

"I  can  see  it  from  all  the  way  across  the  lake," 
said  Hervey.  "I  can  see  it  no  matter  where  I 

go." 

"I  see.  It  must  arouse  fond  thoughts.  I'm 
afraid,  Hervey,  to  quote  your  own  song,  there 
isn't  any  other  place  for  you  to  go  but  home, 
sweet  home.  You  seem  to  have  exhausted  all 
the  places.  Sit  down,  Hervey,  you  and  I  have 
got  to  have  a  little  talk." 


106  TOM  SLADE'S 

Hervey  leaned  against  the  cabin,  Mr.  Denny 
sat  upon  the  door  sill.  None  of  the  troop  was 
about;  it  was  very  quiet.  For  half  a  minute  or 
so  Mr.  Denny  did  not  speak,  only  whittled  a 
stick. 

"I  sometimes  wonder  why  you  joined  the  scouts, 
Hervey,"  he  said.  "Your  disposition " 

"A  fellow  that  sat  next  to  me  in  school  dared 
me  to,"  said  Hervey. 

"Oh,  it  was  a  sort  of  a  wager?" 

"I  wouldn't  take  a  dare  from  anybody." 

"And  so  you  joined  as  a  stunt?" 

"I  heard  that  scouts  jumped  off  cliffs  and  all 
like  that." 

"I  see.  Well,  now,  Hervey,  I've  written  to 
your  father  that  I'm  sending  you  home." 

Hervey  began  making  rings  in  the  soil  with 
his  stick  but  said  nothing.  Mr.  Denny's  last 
words  were  perhaps  a  little  more  than  he 
expected,  but  he  gave  no  other  hint  of  his 
feelings. 

And  so  for  another  minute  or  so  there  was 
silence,  except  for  the  distant  voices  of  some 
scouts  out  upon  the  lake. 

"It  is  not  exactly  as  a  punishment.  Hervey;  it 


DOUBLE  DARE  107 

is  just  that  I  can't  take  the  responsibility,  that's 
all.     You  see?" 

"Y yes,  sir." 

"I  thought  you  would.  Your  father  thought 
the  influence  of  camp  would  be  good,  but  you  see 
you  are  seldom  at  camp.  We  can't  help  you  be- 
cause we  can't  find  you." 

"You  can't  cook  a  fish  till  you  catch  it,"  said 
Hervey. 

"That's  just  it,  Hervey." 

"If  you  don't  want  to  leave  any  tracks  the 
best  thing  is  to  swing  into  trees  every  now  and 
then,"  Hervey  informed  him. 

"Ah,  I  see.  Now,  Hervey,  my  boy,  I'm  an*> 
ious  that  you  and  I  should  understand  each  other. 
You  have  done  nothing  disgraceful  and  I  don't 
think  you  ever  will " 

"I  landed  plunk  on  my  head  once." 

"Well,  that  was  more  of  a  misfortune  than  a 
disgrace." 

"It  hurt  like  the  dickens." 

"I  suppose  it  did." 

Mr.  Denny  paused;  he  was  up  against  the 
hardest  job  he  had  ever  tackled.  It  was  harder 
than  he  had  thought  it  would  be. 


fo8  TOM  SLADE'S 

"You  see;  Hervey,  how  it  U.  Las^  week  you 
stayed  away  over  night  at  some  farm.  I  had  told 
you  you  must  not  leave  camp  without  my  knowl- 
edge. For  that  I  had  you  stay  here  all  day, 
making  a  birchbark  basket.  I  thought  that  was 
a  good  punishment." 

"I'll  tell  the  world  it  was,"  said  Hervey. 

Mr.  Denny  paused  before  proceeding. 

"Did  it  do  any  good?     Not  a  bit." 

"The  basket  was  a  punk  one,"  said  Hervey. 

"Again  you  rode  down  as  far  as  Barretstown, 
hitching  onto  a  freight  train." 

"I'd  have  got  all  the  way  down  to  Jonesvillev 
if  it  hadn't  been  for  the  conductor.  He  was  some 
old  grouch,  believe  me." 

"Then  we  had  a  little  talk — you  remember. 
You  promised  to  be  here  at  meal  times.  Look 
at  Mr.  Ellsworth's  troop,  Harris,  Blakeley  and 
those  boys.  Always  on  hand  for  meals " 

"I'll  say  so;  they're  some  hungry  bunch,"  Her- 
vey commented. 

"And  you  gave  me  your  word  that  you  wouldn't 
leave  camp  without  my  permission.  You  think  as 
little  about  breaking  your  word  as  you  do  about 


DOUBLE  DARE  109 

breaking  your  leg,  Heruey"  Mr.  Denny  added 
with  sober  emphasis. 

Hervey  began  poking  the  ground  again  with  his 
stick. 

"That's  just  the  truth,  Hervey.  And  it  can't 
go  on  any  longer." 

"Am  I  out  of  the  troop?"  Hervey  asked,  wist- 
fully. 

"N — no,  you're  not.  But  I  want  you  to 
learn  to  be  as  good  a  scout  in  one  way  as  you 
are  in  another.  You  have  won  merit  badges 
rvith  an  ease  which  is  surprising  to  me " 

"They're   a   cinch,"   Hervey  interrupted. 

"I  want  you  to  go  home  and  stop  doing  stunts 
and  read  the  handbook.  I  want  you  to  read  the 
oath  and  the  scout  laws,  so  that  when  the  rest  of 
us  come  home  you  can  give  me  your  hand  and 
say,  Tm  an  all  round  scout,  not  just  a  doer  of 
stunts.'  " 

"H — how  soon  are — the  rest  of  you  coming 
back?"  Hervey  asked  with  just  the  faintest  sug- 
gestion of  a  break  in  his  voice. 

"Why,  you  know  we're  here  for  six  weeks,  Her- 
yey.  Don't  you  know  anything  about  your  troop's 


no  TOM  SLADE'S 

affairs?     You  know  how  much  money  we 
in  our  treasury,  don't  you?" 

Hervey  did  not  miss  the  reproach.  He  said 
nothing,  only  kept  tracing  the  circle  with  his 
stick.  Finally  it  occurred  to  him  to  mark  two 
eyes,  a  nose  and  a  mouth  in  the  circle.  Mr. 
Denny  sat  studying  him.  I  think  Mr.  Denny 
was  on  the  point  of  weakening.  Hervey  seemed 
sober  and  preoccupied.  But  the  face  on  the 
ground  seemed  to  wink  at  Mr.  Denny  as  if  to  in- 
tercede in  its  young  creator's  behalf. 

Mr.  Denny  gathered  his  strength  as  one  does 
on  the  point  of  taking  an  unpalatable  medicine. 

"Yesterday,  Hervey,  I  expressly  reminded  you 
of  your  promise  not  to  leave  camp.  I  did  that 
because  I  thought  the  storm  might  tempt  you 
forth." 

"They  call  me " 

"Yes,  I  know;  they  call  you  the  stormy  petrel. 
You  went  across  the  lake  with  others.  They  re- 
turned but  you  did  not  return  with  them.  Where 
you  went  I  don't  know.  And  I'm  not  going  to 
ask  you,  Hervey,  for  it  makes  no  difference.  I 
understand  young  Mr.  Slade  was  there,  but  that 
makes  no  difference.  Blakeley  and  one  of  his 


DOUBLE  DARE  in 

troop,  Westy  Martin,  reached  camp  and  reported 
conditions  in  the  cove " 

"He's  all  right,  Blakeley  is " 

"Hours  passed,  no  one  knew  where  you  were. 
I  was  too  proud,  or  too  ashamed,  to  go  and  ask 
Slade  if  he  knew.  I  am  jealous  of  our  troop's 
reputation,  Hervey — even  if  you  are  not " 

Hervey  leaned  against  the  cabin,  looking  ab- 
stractedly at  his  handiwork  on  the  ground. 

"There  was  great  confusion  and  excitement 
here,"  Mr.  Denny  continued.  "The  whole  camp 
turned  out  to  save  the  lake,  to  stem  the  flood. 
But  you  were  not  here.  Your  companions  in  our 
troop  worked  till  they  were  dog  tired.  But  where 
were  you?  Helping?  No,  you  were  off  on  some 
vagabond  journey — disobedient,  insubordinate." 

Mr.  Denny  spoke  with  resolute  firmness  now 
and  his  voice  rang  as  he  uttered  his  scathing  ac- 
cusations. 

"You  were  a  traitor  not  only  to  your  troop, 
but  to  the  camp — the  camp  which  held  out  the 
hand  of  good  fellowship  to  you  when  you  came 
here.  A  slacker " 

Hervey  broke  his  stick  in  half  and  threw  it  on 
the  ground.  His  breast  heaved.  He  looked 


[Hi  TOM  SLADE'S 

down.  He  said  nothing.  Mr.  Denny  studied 
him  curiously  for  a  few  seconds. 

"That  is  the  truth,  Hervey.  One  wrong  always 
produces  another.  You  were  disobedient  and  in- 
subordinate, and  that  led  to— what?" 

Hervey  gulped,  but  whether  in  shame  or  re- 
morse or  what,  Mr.  Denny  could  not  make  out* 
He  was  to  know  presently. 

"It  led  to  shirking,  whether  intentional  or  not. 
And  to-night,  because  there  is  no  train,  you  are 
going  to  sleep  in  the  camp  which  you  deserted. 
You  will,  perhaps,  row  on  the  lake  which  others 
have  saved  for  you.  You  see  it  now  in  its  true 
light,  don't  you?  You  had  better  go  and  thank 
Blakeley  and  his  comrade  for  what  they  did,  if 
you  have  any  real  feeling  for  the  camp." 

CIT »J 

"Don't  speak.  Nothing  you  could  say  would 
make  a  difference,  Hervey.  I  know  from  Mr. 
Carroll  and  his  boys  where  you  showed  up.  I 
know  they  found  you  clinging  to  one  of  the  stage 
horses.  I  was  there  later  and  saw  you.  You 
might  have  been  plunged  into  that  chasm  with 
all  the  rest  of  them  and  been  crushed  to  pieces, 
if  one  of  those  scouts  hadn't  gone  ahead,  as  he 


DOUBLE  DARE  113 

was  told  to  do,  and  if  he  hadn't  kept  his  mind 
on  what  he  had  been  told  to  do,  instead  of  dis- 
regarding his  scoutmaster  and " 

He  paused,  for  Hervey  was  shaking  perceptibly. 
He  watched  the  boy  curiously.  Should  he  go  on 
with  this  thing  and  see  it  through?  He  sum- 
moned his  resolution. 

"No,  Hervey,  as  I  said,  I  have  written  to  your 
father.  I  have  said  nothing  against  you,  only  that 
you  are  too  much  for  me  here,  where  my  re- 
sponsibility is  great.  I  want  you  to  get  your 
things  together  and  take  the  train  in  the  morning. 
We'll  expect  to  see  you  when  we  come  home. 
There  is  no  hard  feeling,  Hervey.  When  we 
come  home  you're  going  to  start  all  over  again, 
my  boy,  and  learn  the  thing  right.  You " 

With  a  kind  of  spasmodic  effort  Hervey  raised 
his  head  and,  with  a  pride  there  was  no  mistaking, 
looked  his  scoutmaster  straight  in  the  face.  He 
was  trembling  visibly.  If  there  was  any  contri- 
tion in  his  countenance,  Mr.  Denny  did  not  see  it. 
He  was  quite  taken  aback  with  the  fine  show  of 
spirit  which  his  young  delinquent  showed.  There 
was  even  a  dignity  in  the  old  cap  with  its  holes 
and  badges,  ?s  it  sat  perched  on  the  side  of  his 


ii4  TOM  SLADE'S 

head.  There  was  a  touch  of  pathos,  even  of 
dignity  too,  in  his  fallen  stocking. 

"I — I — wouldn't  stay  here — now — I  wouldn't 
— I — not  even  if  you  asked  me — I  wouldn't.  I 
wouldn't  even  if  you — if  you  got  down  on  your 
knees  and  begged  me " 

"Hervey,  my  boy " 

"No,  I  won't  listen.  I — I  wouldn't  stay  even 
to-night — I  wouldn't.  Do  you  think  I  need  a 
train?  I — I  can  hike  to  Jonesville,  can't  I? 
You  say  I'm — I'm  no  scout — Tom  Slade  he 
said » 

"Hervey " 

"I  don't — anyhow — I  don't  care  anything  about 
the  rest  of  them.  I  wouldn't  stay  even  for  supper. 
Even  if  you — if  you  apologized — I  wouldn't " 

"Apologize?     Why,  Hervey " 

"For  what  you  said — called  me — I  wouldn't. 
I  don't  give  a — a — damn — I  don't — for  all  the 
people  here — only  except  one — and  I  wouldn't 
stay  if  you  got  down  on  your  knees  and  begged 
me — I  wouldn't " 

Mr.  Denny  contemplated  him  with  consterna- 
tion in  every  feature.  There  was  no  stopping 
him.  The  accused  had  become  the  accuser. 


DOUBLE  DARE  ;ii$ 

There  was  something  stirring,  something  right- 
eous, in  this  fine  abandon.  In  the  setting  of  the 
outburst  of  hurt  pride  even  the  profane  word 
seemed  to  justify  itself.  The  tables  were  com- 
pletely turned  and  Hervey  Willetts  was  master 
of  the  situation. 


CHAPTER  XX 

TOM  ADVISES  GOLIATH 

IT  was  late  afternoon  when  Tom  Slade,  tramp- 
ing home  after  his  day  spent  with  the  minions  of 
the  law,  crossed  the  main  road  and  hit  into  the 
woods  trail  which  afforded  a  short  cut  to  camp. 

It  was  the  laziest  hour  of  the  day,  the  gap  be- 
tween mid  afternoon  and  supper  time.  It  was  a 
tranquil  time,  a  time  of  lolling  under  trees  and 
playing  the  wild  game  of  mumbly-peg,  and  of 
jollying  tenderfoots,  and  waiting  for  supper. 
Roy  Blakeley  always  said  that  the  next  best  thing 
to  supper  was  waiting  for  it.  The  lake  always 
looked  black  in  that  pre-twilight  time  when  the 
sun  was  beyond  though  not  below  the  summit  of 
the  mountain.  It  was  the  time  of  new  arrivals. 
In  that  mountain-surrounded  retreat  they  have 

two  twilights — a  tenderfoot  twilight  and  a  first 

116 


DOUBLE  DARE  117 

class  twilight.  It  was  the  time  when  scouts,  singly 
and  in  groups,  came  in  from  tracking,  stalking  and 
what  not,  and  sprawled  about  and  got  acquainted. 

But  there  was  one  who  did  not  come  in  on  that 
peaceful  afternoon,  and  that  was  the  wandering 
minstrel.  If  Tom  Slade  had  crossed  the  main 
road  ten  minutes  sooner,  he  might  have  seen  that 
blithe  singer  going  along  the  road,  but  not  with 
a  song  on  his  lips.  The  sun  of  that  carefree 
nature  was  under  a  cloud.  But  his  loyal  stock- 
ing kept  descending,  and  his  suit-case  dangled 
from  a  stick  over  his  shoulder.  His  trick  hat 
perched  jauntily  upon  his  head,  Hervey  Willetts 
was  himself  again.  Not  quite,  but  almost. 
At  all  events  he  did  not  ponder  on  the  injustice  of 
the  world  and  the  cruelty  of  fate.  He  was  won- 
dering whether  he  could  make  Jonesville  in  time 
for  the  night  train  or  whether  he  had  better  try 
for  the  boat  at  Catskill  Landing.  The  boat  had 
this  advantage,  that  he  could  shinny  up  the  flag- 
pole if  the  pilot  did  not  see  him.  The  train  of- 
fered nothing  but  the  railing  on  the  plat- 
forms. .  .  . 

If  Tom  had  been  ten  minutes  earlier! 

The  young  camp  assistant  left  the  trail  and  hit 


n8  TOM  SLADE'S 

down  through  the  grove  and  around  the  main 
pavilion.  The  descending  sun  shone  right  in 
his  face  as  he  neared  the  lake.  It  made  his  brown 
skin  seem  almost  like  that  of  a  mulatto.  His 
sleeves  were  rolled  up  as  they  always  were,  show- 
ing brown  muscular  arms,  with  a  leather  wristlet 
[(but  no  watch)  on  one.  His  pongee  shirt  was 
open  almost  down  to  his  waist.  His  faded  khaki 
trousers  were  held  up  by  a  heavy  whip  lash  drawn 
tight  around  his  waist. 

Not  a  single  appurtenance  of  the  scout  was  up* 
on  him.  He  was  rather  tall,  and  you  who  have 
known  him  as  a  hulking  youngster  with  bull 
shoulders  will  be  interested  to  know  that  he  had 
grown  somewhat  slender  and  exceedingly  lithe. 
He  had  that  long  stride  and  silent  footfall  which 
the  woods  life  develops.  He  was  still  tow- 
headed,  though  he  fixed  his  hair  on  occasions, 
which  is  saying  something.  You  would  have  been 
amused  at  his  air  of  quiet  assurance.  Perhaps  he 
had  not  humor  in  the  same  sense  that  Roy  Blake- 
ley  had,  but  he  had  an  easy,  bantering  way  which 
was  captivating  to  the  scouts. 

Dirty  little  hoodlum  that  he  once  was,  he  was 
now  the  most  picturesque,  romantic  figure  in  the 


DOUBLE  DARE  119 

camp.  In  Tom  Slade,  beloved  old  Uncle  Jeb, 
camp  manager,  seemed  to  have  renewed  his  own 
youth.  Scouts  worshipped  at  the  shrine  of  this 
young  confidant  of  the  woods,  trustees  consulted 
him,  scoutmasters  respected  him. 

As  he  emerged  around  the  corner  of  the  stor- 
age cabin,  several  scouts  who  had  taken  their 
station  within  inhaling  distance  of  the  cooking 
shack  fell  in  with  him  and  trotted  along  beside 
him. 

"H'lo,  Slady,  can  we  go  with  you?" 

"I'm  going  to  wash  my  hands,"  said  Tom, 
giving  one  of  them  a  shove. 

"Good  night !     I  don't  want  to  go." 

"I  thought  you  wouldn't." 

In  Tent  Avenue  the  news  of  his  passing  got 
about  and  presently  a  menagerie  of  tenderfoots 
were  dogging  his  heels. 

"Where  you  been,  Slady?  Can  I  go?  Take 
me?  Take  us  on  the  lake,  Slady?" 

As  he  passed  the  two-patrol  cabins  Goliath  slid 
down  from  the  woodpile  and  challenged  him. 
Hey,  big  feller,  I  got  a  souvenir.  Want  to  see 
it?  1  know  who  you  are;  you're  boss,  ain't  you?" 

"H'lo,  old  top,"  said  Tom,  tousling  his  hair 


120  TOM  SLADE'S 

for  him.  "Well,  how  do  you  think  you  like 
Temple  Camp?" 

Goliath  had  hard  work  to  keep  up  with  him, 
but  he  managed  it. 

"I  had  two  pieces  of  pie,"  he  said. 

"Good  for  you." 

"Maybe  I'll  get  to  be  a  regular  scout,  hey?'* 

"Not  till  you  can  eat  six  pieces." 

"Were  you  ever  in  a  hospital?" 

"Yop,  over  in  France." 

"I  bet  you  licked  the  Germans,  didn't  you?" 

"Oh,  I  had  a  couple  of  fellows  helping  me." 

"A  fellow  in  my  troop  is  a  hero;  he's  going  to 
get  a  badge,  maybe.  A  lot  of  fellers  said  so.'* 

"That's  the  way  to  do,"  said  Tom. 

"His  name  is  Tyson,  that's  what  his  name  is* 
Do  you  know  him?" 

"You  bet." 

"He  saved  all  the  fellers  in  that  wagon  from 
getting  killed  because  he  shouted  for  the  wagon 
to  stop.  So  he's  a  hero,  ain't  he?" 

"Well,  I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  Tom 
cheerily;  "medals  aren't  so  easy  to  get." 

"There  was  a  crazy  feller  near  that  wagon.  I 
bet  you  were  never  crazy,  were  you?" 


DOUBLE  DARE  [121 

"Not  so  very." 

"Will  you  help  him  to  get  the  medal — Tyson?" 

"Well,  now,  you  let  me  tell  you  something," 
said  Tom;  "don't  you  pay  so  much  attention  to 
these  fellows  around  camp.  The  main  thing  for 
you  to  do -is  to  eat  pie  and  stew  and  things.  A  lot 
of  these  fellows  think  it's  easy  to  get  medals. 
And  they  think  it's  fun  to  jolly  little  fellows  like 
you.  Don't  you  think  about  medals;  you  think 
about  dinner." 

"But  after  I  get  through  thinking  about  din- 
ner  " 

"Then  think  about  supper.  You  can't  eat 
medals." 

Goliath  seemed  to  ponder  on  this  undesirable 
truth.  He  soon  fell  behind  and  presently  de- 
serted Tom  to  edify  a  group  of  scouts  near  the 
boat  landing. 

Of  course,  Tom  did  not  take  seriously  what 
Goliath  had  said  about  awards.  He  knew  Ty- 
son and  he  knew  that  Tyson  would  be  the  last  one 
in  the  world  to  pose  as  a  hero.  But  he  also  knew 
something  of  the  disappointments  which  innocent 
banter  and  jollying  had  caused  in  camp.  He 
knew  that  the  wholesome  spirit  of  fun  in  Roy 


122  TOM  SLADE'S 

Blakeley  and  others  had  sometimes  overreached 
itself,  causing  chagrin.  There  was  probably 
nothing  to  this  business  at  all  but,  for  precaution's 
sake,  he  would  nip  it  in  the  bud. 

One  incidental  result  of  his  little  chat  with 
Goliath  was  that  he  was  reminded  of  Hervey's 
exploit,  a  matter  which  he  had  entirely  forgotten 
in  his  more  pressing  preoccupations.  Tom  was 
no  hero  maker  and  he  knew  that  Hervey  would 
only  trip  on  the  hero's  mantle  if  he  wore  it.  As 
time  had  gone  on  in  camp,  Tom  had  found 
himself  less  and  less  interested  in  the  pomp  and 
ceremony  and  theatrical  clap-trap  of  awards. 
Bravery  was  in  the  natural  course  of  things. 
Why  make  a  fuss  about  it? 

For  that  very  reason,  he  was  not  going  to  have 
any  heads  turned  with  rapturous  dreams  of  gold 
and  silver  awards.  He  was  not  going  to  have 
any  new  scouts'  visit  blighted  by  vain  hopes.  He 
did  not  care  greatly  about  awards,  but  he  cared 
a  good  deal  about  the  scouts.  .  .  . 


CHAPTER  XXI 

WORDS 

AFTER  he  had  prepared  for  supper  he  went  up 
the  hill  to  the  cabin  occupied  by  Mr.  Carroll's 
troop.  It  was  pleasantly  located  on  a  knoll  and 
somewhat  removed  from  the  main  body  of  camp. 
Mr.  Carroll  was  himself  about  to  start  down  for 
supper. 

"H'lo,  Mr.  Carroll,"  said  Tom;  "alone  in  your 
glory?" 

"The  boys  have  gone  down,"  said  Mr.  Carroll. 
"They'll  be  sorry  to  have  missed  a  visit  from 
Tom  Slade." 

"Comfortable?"  Tom  asked. 

"Couldn't  be  more  so,  thank  you.  We  can 
almost  see  home  from  up  here,  though  the  boys 
prefer  not  to  look  in  that  direction." 

Tom  glanced  about.     "Sometimes  new  troops 

are  kind  of  backward  to  ask  for  things,"  he  said. 

123 


124  TOM  SLADE'S 

"We're  not  mind  readers,  you  know.  So  sing  out 
if  there's  anything  you  want." 

"Thank  you." 

"Kid  comfortable?" 

"Yes,  he's  giving  his  attention  to  pie  and 
awards." 

"Hm,"  said  Tom,  seating  himself  on  a  stump. 
"Pie's  all  right,  but  you  want  to  have  these  fellows 
go  easy  on  awards.  The  boys  here  in  camp  are  a 
bunch  of  jolliers.  Of  course,  you  know  the  hand- 
book  " 

"Oh,  yes." 

"And  you  know  Tyson  doesn't  stand  to  win  any 
medal  for  anything  he  did  last  night.  Strictly 
speaking,  he  saved  your  lives,  I  suppose,  but  it  isn't 
exactly  a  case  for  an  award." 

"Oh,  mercy,  no." 

"I'm  glad  you  see  it  that  way,  Mr.  Carroll. 
Because  sometimes  scouts  get  to  enjoying  them- 
selves so  much  here,  that  they  forget  what's  in. 
the  handbook.  These  things  go  by  rules,  you 
know.  I  like  Gilbert  and  I  wouldn't  want  him  to 
get  any  crazy  notions  from  what  these  old  timers 
say.  There's  some  talk  among  the  boys " 

"I  think  the  little  fellow's  responsible  for  that," 


DOUBLE  DARE  125 

Mr.  Carroll  laughed.  "Gilbert  is  level-headed 
and  sensible." 

"You  bet,"  said  Tom.  "Well,  then,  it's  all 
right,  and  there  won't  be  any  broken  hearts.  I've 
seen  more  broken  hearts  here  at  camp  than  broken 
heads.  .  .  .  You're  a  new  troop,  aren't  you?'* 
he  queried. 

"Oh,  yes,  we  haven't  got  our  eyes  open  yet." 

"Goliath  seems  to  have  his  mouth  open  for 
business." 

"Yes,"  Mr.  Carroll  laughed.  "Shall  we  stroll 
down  to  supper?" 

"I've  got  one  more  call  to  make  if  you'll  ex- 
cuse me,"  said  Tom. 

"Come  up  again,  won't  you?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  make  inspection  every  day.  You'll 
be  sick  of  the  sight  of  me." 

He  was  off  again,  striding  down  the  little  hill. 
He  passed  among  the  tents,  around  Visitors' 
Bungalow,  and  toward  the  cabins  in  Good  Turn 
Grove.  Somewhat  removed  from  these  (a  couple 
of  good  turns  from  them,  as  Roy  Blakeley  said) 
was  the  cabin  of  Mr.  Denny's  troop. 

The  boys  were  getting  ready  to  go  down  and 
'they  greeted  Tom  cheerily. 


126  TOM  SLADE'S 

"Where's  Hervey?"  he  asked. 

He  had  not  seen  Hervey  since  late  the  previous 
night,  just  after  returning  from  the  mountain. 
Hervey  was  then  so  exhausted  as  hardly  to  know 
him.  The  young  assistant  fancied  a  sort  of  con- 
straint among  the  boys  and  he  thought  that  may- 
be Hervey's  condition  had  taken  an  alarming  turn. 

"Ask  Mr.  D.,"  said  one  of  the  scouts. 

"H'lo,  Mr.  Denny,"  said  Tom,  stepping  into 
one  of  the  cabins.  No  one  was  there  but  the 
scoutmaster.  "Where's  our  wandering  boy  to- 
night?" 

"He  has  been  dismissed  from  camp,  I'm  sorry 
to  savi"  said  Mr.  Denny.  "Sit  down,  won't 
you?" 

Tom  could  hardly  speak  for  astonishment. 

"You  mean  the  camp — down  at  the  office " 

"Oh,  no,  I  sent  him  home.  It  was  just  between 
him  and  myself." 

"Oh,  I  see,"  said  Tom,  a  trifle  relieved,  appar- 
ently. "It  wasn't  on  account  of  his  hurt?" 

"Oh,  no,  he's  all  right.  He  just  disobeyed  me, 
that's  all.  That  sort  of  thing  couldn't  go  on,  you 
know.  It  was  getting  worse." 

Mr.  Denny  had  now  had  a  chance  to  review 


DOUBLE  DARE  127 

his  conduct  and  he  found  it  in  all  ways  justified. 
He  was  glad  that  he  had  not  weakened.  More- 
over, there  was  fresh  evidence. 

"Only  just  now,"  he  said,  "one  of  the  scout- 
masters came  to  me  with  a  notice  from  the  bulletin 
board  utterly  ruined  by  a  tomato  which  Hervey 
threw.  He  was  greatly  annoyed." 

"Sure,"  said  Tom. 

"I  don't  exactly  blame  you,  Slade " 

"Me?" 

"But  you  took  Hervey  with  you  across  the  lake. 
He  had  promised  me  not  to  leave  camp.  Where 
he  went,  I  don't  know " 

"You  don't?" 

"No,  and  I  don't  care.  He  was  picked  up  by 
the  people  in  the  bus,  and  if  it  hadn't  been  for 
that  I  suppose  I'd  be  answerable  to  his  parents 
for  his  death.  He  was  very  insolent  to  me." 

"He  didn't  say " 

"Oh,  no,  he  didn't  say  anything.  He  assumed 
an  air  of  boyish  independence;  I  don't  know  that 
I  hold  that  against  him." 

"But  he  didn't  tell  you  where  he  had  been — or 
anything?" 

"Why,  no.     I  had  no  desire  to  hear  that.     His 


128  TOM  SLADE'S 

fault  was  in  starting.  It  made  no  difference  where 
he  went." 

"Oh." 

For  a  few  seconds  Tom  said  nothing,  only 
drummed  with  his  fingers  on  the  edge  of  the  cot 
on  which  he  sat. 

"This  is  a  big  surprise  to  me,"  he  finally  said. 

"It  is  a  very  regrettable  circumstance  to  me," 
said  Mr.  Denny. 

There  ensued  a  few  seconds  more  of  silence. 
The  boys  outside  could  be  heard  starting  for  sup- 
per. 

Tom  was  the  first  to  speak.  "Of  course  you 
won't  think  I'm  trying  to  butt  in,  Mr.  Denny,  but 
there's  a  rule  that  the  camp  can  call  on  all  its 
people  in  an  emergency.  The  first  year  the  camp 
opened  we  had  a  bad  fire  here  and  every  kid  in 
the  place  was  set  to  work.  After  that  they  made 
a  rule.  Sometimes  things  have  to  be  done  in  a 
hurry.  I  took  Hervey  and  a  couple  of  others 
across  the  lake,  because  I  knew  something  serious 
had  happened  over  there.  I  think  I  had  a  right 
to  do  that.  But  there's  something  else.  Hervey 
didn't  tell  you  everything.  You  said  you  didn't 
want  him  to." 


DOUBLE  DARE 

"He  has  never  told  me  everything.  I  had  al- 
ways been  in  the  dark  concerning  him.  This 
tomato  throwing  makes  me  rather  ashamed,  too." 

"Yes,"  said  Tom,  "that's  bad.  But  will  you 
listen  to  me  if  I  tell  you  the  whole  of  that  story — • 
the  whole  business?  I've  been  away  from  camp 
all  day.  I  only  got  here  fifteen  minutes  ago.  I 
know  Hervey's  a  queer  kid — hard  to  understand. 
I  don't  know  why  he  didn't  speak  out " 

"Why,  it  was  because  I  told  him  it  wouldn't 
make  any  difference,"  said  Mr.  Denny,  a  bit  net- 
tled. "The  important  point  was  known  to  me  and 
that  was  that  he  disobeyed  me.  I  don't  think  we 
can  gain  anything  by  talking  this  over,  Slade." 

"Then  you  won't  listen  to  me,  Mr.  Denny?" 

"I  don't  think  it  would  be  any  use." 

Tom  paused  a  moment.  He  was  just  a  bit 
nettled,  too.  Then  he  stood.  And  then,  just  hi 
that  brief  interval,  his  lips  tightened  and  his  mouth 
looked  just  as  it  used  to  look  in  the  old  hoodlum 
days — rugged,  strong.  The  one  saving,  hopeful 
feature  which  Mr.  Ellsworth,  his  old  scoutmaster, 
had  banked  upon  then  in  that  sooty,  unkempt 
countenance.  They  were  the  lips  of  a  bulldog. 

"All  right,  Mr.  Denny,"  he  said  respectfully. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

ACTION 

TOM  strode  down  to  the  messboards  which, 
in  pleasant  weather,  were  out  under  the  trees.  He 
seemed  not  at  all  angry;  there  was  a  kind  of 
breezy  assurance  in  his  stride  and  manner.  As 
he  reached  the  messboards  where  some  of  the 
scouts  were  already  seated  on  the  long  benches, 
several  noticed  this  buoyancy  in  his  demeanor. 

"H'lo,  kiddo,"  he  said  to  Pee-wee  Harris  as 
he  passed  and  ruffled  that  young  gourmand's  hair. 

Reaching  Mr.  Carroll,  he  asked  in  a  cheery 
undertone,  "May  I  use  one  of  your  scouts  for; 
a  little  while?" 

"I'll  have  the  whole  troop  wrapped  up  and  de- 
livered to  you,"  said  Mr.  Carroll. 

"Thanks." 

Reaching  Gilbert  Tyson,  he  laid  his  hand  on  Gil- 
130 


DOUBLE  DARE  131 

bert's  shoulder  and  whispered  to  him  in  a  pleas- 
ant, off-hand  way,  "Get  through  and  come  in  the 
office,  I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

In  the  office,  Tom  seated  himself  at  one  of 
the  resident  trustees'  desks,  spilled  the  contents 
of  a  pigeon  hole  in  hauling  out  a  sheet  of  the 
camp  stationery,  shook  his  fountain  pen  with  a 
blithe  air  of  crisp  decision  and  wrote: 

To  Hervey  Willetts,  Scout: — 

You  are  hereby  required  to  present  yourself  be- 
fore the  resident  Court  of  Honor  at  Temple  Camp, 
which  sits  in  the  main  pavilion  on  Saturday,  August 
the  second,  at  ten  A.  M.,  and  which  will  at  that  time 
hear  testimony  and  decide  on  your  fitness  for  the 
Scout  Gold  Cross  award  for  supreme  heroism. 
By  order  of  the 

RESIDENT  COUNCIL. 

Pushing  back  his  chair,  he  strode  over  to  Coun- 
cil Shack,  adjoining. 

"Put  your  sig  on  that,  Mr.  Collins,"  said  he. 

He  reentered  the  office  just  as  Gilbert  Tyson, 
wearing  a  look  of  astonishment  and  inquiry,  and 
finishing  a  slice  of  bread  and  butter,  entered  by 
die  other  door. 

"Tyson,"  said  Tom,  as  he  put  the  missive  in  an 
envelope,  "I  understand  you're  a  hero,  woke  up 


132  TOM  SLADE'S 

and  found  yourself  famous  and  all  that  kind  of 
stuff.  Can  you  sprint?  Good.  I'm  going  to 
give  you  the  chance  of  your  life,  and  no  war 
tax.  Hervey  Willetts  started  for  home  about 
three  quarters  of  an  hour  ago.  Never  mind  why. 
Deliver  this  letter  to  him." 

"Where  is  he?"  Gilbert  asked. 

"I  haven't  the  slightest  idea." 

"Started  for  the  train,  you  mean?" 

"Now,  Tyson,  I  don't  know  any  more  about 
it  than  just  that — he  started  for  home.  To-day's 
Thursday.  He  must  be  here  Saturday.  Now 
don't  waste  time.  Here's  the  letter.  Now  get 
out!" 

"Just  one  second,"  said  Gilbert.  "How  do 
you  know  he  started  for  home?" 

"How  do  I  know  it?"  Tom  shot  back,  impati- 
ently. 

"Do  you  think  a  fellow  like  Willetts  would  go 
home?  I'll  deliver  the  letter  wherever  he  is* 
But  he  isn't  on  his  way  home.  I  know  him." 

"Tyson,"  said  Tom,  "you're  a  crackerjack 
scout.  Now  get  out  of  here  before  I  throw  you 
out." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE  MONSTER 

IT  is  better  to  know  your  man  than  to  know 
his  tracks.  Gilbert  Tyson  had  somehow  come 
to  understand  Hervey  in  that  one  day  since  his 
arrival  at  camp,  and  he  had  no  intention  of  ex- 
hausting his  breath  in  a  futile  chase  along  the 
road.  There,  indeed,  was  a  scout  for  you.  He 
was  on  the  job  before  he  had  started. 

The  road  ran  behind  the  camp,  the  camp  ly- 
ing between  the  road  and  the  lake.  To  go  to 
Catskill  Landing  one  must  go  by  this  road.  Also 
to  make  a  short  cut  to  Jonesville  (where  the  night 
express  stopped)  one  must  go  for  the  first  mile 
or  so  along  this  road.  The  road  was  a  state  road 
and  of  macadam,  and  did  not  show  footprints. 

Tyson  did  not  know  a  great  deal  about  tracking, 
but  he  knew  something  of  human  nature,  he  had 

133 


i34  TOM  SLADE'S 

heard  something  of  Hervey,  and  he  eliminated 
the  road.  He  believed  that  he  would  not  over- 
take Hervey  there. 

Across  the  road,  at  intervals,  several  trails  led 
up  into  the  thicker  woods.  One  led  to  the  Morton 
farm,  another  to  Witches'  Pond. 

Tyson,  being  new  at  camp,  did  not  know  the 
direction  of  these  trails,  but  he  knew  that  all  trails 
go  somewhere.  He  had  heard,  during  the  day, 
that  Hervey  was  on  cordial  terms  with  every 
farmer,  squatter,  tollgate  keeper,  bridge  tender, 
hobo,  and  traveling  show  for  miles  around. 

So  he  examined  these  trails  carefully  at  their 
beginnings  beside  the  road.  Only  one  of  them 
interested  him.  Upon  this,  about  ten  feet  in  from 
the  road,  was  a  rectangular  area  impressed  in  the 
earth  which,  in  the  woods,  was  still  damp  after 
the  storm.  With  his  flashlight  Gilbert  examined 
this.  He  thought  a  box  might  have  stood  there. 
Then  he  noticed  two  ruffled  places  in  the  earth, 
each  on  one  of  the  long  sides  of  the  rectangle. 
He  knew  then  what  it  meant;  a  suit-case  had  stood 
there. 

If  he  had  known  more  about  the  circumstance 
of  Hervey' s  leaving,  he  might  have  been  touched 


DOUBLE  DARE  135 

by  the  picture  of  the  wandering  minstrel  pausing 
to  rest  upon  his  burden,  there  at  the  edge  of  the 
woods. 

So  this  was  the  trail.  Elated,  Gilbert  hur- 
ried on,  pausing  occasionally  to  verify  his  convic- 
tion by  a  footprint  in  the  caked  earth.  The  con- 
sistency of  the  earth  was  ideal  for  footprints. 
Yes,  some  one  had  passed  here  not  more  than  an 
hour  before.  Here  and  there  was  an  occasional 
hole  in  the  earth  where  a  stick  might  have  been 
pressed  in,  showing  that  the  stormy  petrel  had 
sometimes  used  his  stick  as  a  cane. 

For  half  an  hour  Gilbert  followed  this  trail  with 
a  feeling  of  elation,  of  triumph.  Soon  he  must 
overtake  the  wanderer.  After  a  little,  the  trail 
became  indistinct  where  it  passed  through  a  low, 
marshy  area.  The  drenching  of  the  woods  by 
the  late  storm  was  apparent  still  in  the  low  places. 

Gilbert  trudged  through  this  spongy  support, 
all  but  losing  his  balance  occasionally.  Soon  he 
saw  something  black  ahead  of  him.  This  was 
Witches'  Pond,  though  he  did  not  know  it  by  that 
name. 

As  he  approached,  the  ground  became  more  and 
more  spongy  and  uncertain.  It  was  apparent 


136  TOM  SLADE'S 

fchat  the  pond  had  usurped  much  of  the  surround- 
ing marsh  in  the  recent  rainy  spell. 

Gilbert  had  to  proceed  with  caution.  Once  his 
leg  sank  to  the  knee  in  the  oozy  undergrowth. 
He  was  just  considering  whether  he  had  not  bet- 
ter abandon  a  trail  which  was  indeed  no  longer 
a  trail  at  all,  and  pick  his  way  around  the  pond, 
when  he  noticed  something  a  little  distance  ahead 
of  him  which  caused  him  to  pause  and  strain  his 
eyes  to  see  it  better  in  the  gathering  dusk.  As 
he  looked  a  cold  shudder  went  through  him. 
What  he  saw  was,  perhaps,  fifty  feet  off.  A  log 
was  there,  one  end  of  which  was  in  the  ground, 
the  other  end  projecting  at  an  angle.  Its  posi- 
tion suggested  the  pictures  of  torpedoed  liners 
going  down,  and  there  passed  through  Gilbert's 
agitated  mind,  all  in  a  flash,  a  vision  of  the  great 
Lusitania  sinking — slowly  sinking. 

For  this  great  log  was  going  down.  Slowlyf 
very  slowly;  but  it  was  going  down.  Or  else 
Gilbert's  eyes  and  the  deepening  shadows  were 
playing  a  strange  trick.  .  .  . 

He  dragged  his  own  foot  out  of  the  treacherous 
ground  and  looked  about  for  safer  support. 


DOUBLE  DARE  137 

There  was  a  suction  as  he  dragged  his  foot  up 
which  sent  his  heart  to  his  mouth.  "Quicksand" 
he  muttered,  shudderingly. 

Was  it  too  late?  He  backed  cautiously  out  of 
the  jaws  of  this  horrible  monster  of  treachery 
and  awful  death,  feeling  his  way  with  each  tenta- 
tive, cautious  step.  He  stood  ankle  deep,  breath- 
ing more  easily.  He  was  back  at  the  edge  of 
that  oozy,  clinging,  all  devouring  trap.  He 
breathed  easier. 

He  looked  at  the  log.  It  was  going  down. 
It  stood  almost  upright  now,  and  offering  no  re- 
sistance with  its  bulk,  was  sinking  rapidly.  In  a 
minute  it  looked  like  a  stump.  It  shortened.  Gil- 
bert stood  motionless  and  watched  it,  fascinated. 
Instinctively  he  retreated  a  few  feet,  to  still  more 
solid  support.  He  was  standing  in  ordinary  mud 
now. 

Down,  down  .  .  . 

A  long  legged  bird  came  swooping  through 
the  dusk  across  the  pond,  lit  upon  the  sinking 
trunk,  and  then  was  off  again. 

"Lucky  it  has  wings,"  Gilbert  said.  .There 
was  no  other  way  to  safety. 


I38  TOM  BLADE'S 

Down,  down,  down — it  was  just  a  bubble. 
The  oozy  mass  sucked  it  in,  closed  over  it.  It 
was  gone. 

There  was  nothing  but  the  dusk  and  the  pond, 
and  the  discordant  croaking  of  frogs. 

Then,  close  to  where  the  log  had  been,  Gilbert 
saw  something  else.  It  was  a  little  dab  of  yellow. 
It  grew  smaller;  disappeared.  There  was  noth- 
ing to  be  seen  now  but  a  little  spot  of  gray;  prob- 
ably some  swamp  growth  .  .  . 

No.  ... 

Just  then  Gilbert  saw  upon  it  a  tiny  speck  which 
sparkled.  There  were  other  specks.  He  strained 
his  eyes  to  pierce  the  growing  darkness.  He  was 
doubtful,  then  certain,  then  doubtful.  He  ad- 
vanced, ever  so  cautiously,  a  step  or  two,  to  see 
it  better. 

Yes.     It  was. 

Utterly  sick  at  heart  he  turned  his  head  away. 
There  before  him,  still  defying  by  its  lightness 
of  weight,  the  hungry  jaws  of  the  heartless,  ter- 
rible, devouring  monster  that  eats  its  prey  alive, 
stood  the  little  rimless,  perforated  and  decorated 
cap  of  Hervey  Willetts.  Joyous  and  buoyant  it 
seemed,  defying  its  inevitable  fate  with  the  blithe 


DOUBLE  DARE  139 

spirit  of  its  late  owner.     It  floated  still,  after  the 
log  and  the  suit-case  had  gone  down. 

And  that  was  all  that  was  left  of  the  wander- 
ing minstrel. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

GILBERT'S  DISCOVERY 

GILBERT  TYSON  was  a  scout  and  he  could  face 
the  worst.  He  soon  got  control  of  himself  and 
began  considering  what  he  had  better  do. 

He  could  not  advance  one  more  step  without 
danger.  Yet  he  could  not  think  of  going  back 
to  camp,  with  nothing  but  the  report  of  something 
he  had  seen  from  a  distance.  He  had  done  noth- 
ing. Yet  what  could  he  do? 

He  was  at  a  loss  to  know  how  Hervey  could 
have  advanced  so  far  into  that  treacherous  mire. 

He  must  have  picked  his  way  here  and  there, 
knee  deep,  waist  deep,  like  the  reckless  youngster 
he  was,  until  he  plunged  all  unaware  into  the  fatal 
spot.  The  very  thought  of  it  made  Gilbert 
shudder.  Had  he  called  for  help?  Gilbert 
wondered.  How  dreadful  it  must  have  been  to 

call  for  help  in  those  minutes  of  sinking,  and  to 

140 


DOUBLE  DARE  :i4i 

hear  nothing  but  some  mocking  echo.  What  had 
the  victim  thought  of,  while  going  down — down? 

Good  scout  that  he  was,  Gilbert  would  not  go 
back  to  camp  without  rescuing  that  one  remaining 
proof  of  Hervey's  tragic  end.  At  least  he  would 
take  back  all  that  there  was  to  take  back. 

He  pulled  out  of  his  pocket  a  fishline  wound 
on  a  stick.  At  the  end  of  the  line  where  a  hook 
wasi  he  fastened  several  more  hooks  an  inch  or 
two  apart.  The  sinker  was  not  heavy  enough 
for  his  purpose  so  he  fastened  a  stone  to  the 
end  of  the  line. 

As  he  made  these  preparations,  the  rather  grew- 
some  thought  occurred  to  him  of  what  he  should 
do  and  how  he  would  feel  if  Hervey's  head  were 
visible  when  he  pulled  the  cap  away.  It  caused 
him  to  hesitate,  just  for  a  few  seconds,  to  make 
an  effort  to  recover  it.  Suppose  that  hat  were  still 
on  the  smothered  victim's  head  .  .  . 

With  his  first  throw,  the  stone  landed  short  of 
the  mark  and  he  dragged  back  a  mass  of  dripping 
marsh  growth,  caught  by  the  fish-hooks.  His  sec- 
ond attempt  landed  the  stone  a  yard  or  so  beyond 
the  hat  and  the  treacherous  character  of  the 
ground  there  was  shown  by  the  almost  instant 


I42  TOM  SLADE'S 

submergence  of  the  missile.  It  was  with  difficulty 
that  Gilbert  dragged  it  out,  and  with  every  pull 
be  feared  the  cord  would  snap.  But  as  he  pulled, 
the  hat  came  also.  The  line  was  directly  across 
it  and  the  hooks  caught  it  nicely.  There  was  no 
vestige  of  any  solid  object  where  the  cap  had  been. 
Gilbert  wondered  how  deep  the  log  had  sunk,  and 
the  suit-case  and — the  other  .  .  . 

He  shook  the  clinging  mud  and  marsh  growth 
from  the  hat  and  looked  at  it.  He  had  seen 
Hervey  only  twice;  once  lying  unconscious  in  the 
bus,  and  once  that  very  day,  when  the  young 
wanderer  had  started  off  to  visit  his  friend,  the 
farmer.  But  this  cap  very  vividly  and  very  pa- 
thetically suggested  its  owner.  The  holes  in  it 
were  of  every  shape  and  size.  The  buttons 
besought  the  beholder  to  vote  for  suffrage,  to 
buy  liberty  bonds,  to  join  the  Red  Cross,  to  eat  at 
Jim's  Lunch  Room,  to  use  only  Tylers'  fresh  co- 
coanut  bars,  to  give  a  thought  to  Ireland.  There 
was  a  Camp-Fire  Girls'  badge,  a  Harding  pin,  a 
Cox  pin,  a  Debs  pin  .  .  .  Hervey  had  been  non- 
partisan  with  a  vengeance. 

With  this  cap,  the  one  touching  memento  of 
the  winner  of  the  Gold  Cross,  Gilbert  started 


DOUBLE  DARE  143 

sorrowfully  back  to  camp.  The  dreadful  man- 
ner of  Hervey's  death  agitated  him  and  weakened 
his  nerve  as  the  discovery  of  a  body  would  not 
have  done.  There  was  no  provision  in  the  hand- 
book for  this  kind  of  a  discovery;  no  face  to  cover 
gently  with  his  scout  scarf,  no  arms  to  lay  in  seemly 
posture.  One  who  had  been,  was  not.  His  death 
and  burial  were  one.  Gilbert  could  not  fit  this 
horrible  thought  to  his  mind.  It  was  out  of  all 
human  experience.  He  could  not  rid  himself  of 
the  ghastly  thought  of  how  far  down  those — 
those  things — had  gone. 

Slowly  he  retraced  his  steps  along  the  trail — » 
thinking.  He  had  read  of  hats  being  found  float- 
ing in  lakes,  indubitable  evidence  of  drowning, 
and  he  had  known  the  owners  of  these  hats  to 
show  up  at  the  ends  of  the  stories.  But 
this  .  .  . 

He  thought  of  the  alighting  of  that  bird  upon 
the  sinking  end  of  the  log.  How  free  and  inde- 
pendent that  bird!  How  easy  its  escape.  How 
impossible  the  escape  of  any  mortal.  To  care- 
lessly pause  upon  a  log  that  was  going  down  in 
quicksand  and  then  to  fly  away.  There  was  blithe- 
ness  in  the  face  of  danger  for  you ! 


144  TOM  SLADE'S 

Gilbert  took  his  way  along  the  trail,  sick  at 
heart.  How  could  he  tell  Tom  Slade  of  this 
frightful  thing?  It  was  his  first  day  at  camp  and 
it  would  cast  a  shadow  on  his  whole  vacation. 
Soon  he  espied  a  light  shining  in  the  distance. 
That  was  a  camp,  no  doubt.  By  leaving  the  trail 
and  following  the  light,  he  could  shorten  his  jour- 
ney. He  was  not  so  sure  that  he  wanted  to 
shorten  his  journey,  but  he  was  ashamed  of  this 
hesitancy  to  face  things,  so  he  abandoned  the  trail 
and  took  the  light  for  his  guide. 

Soon  there  appeared  another  light  near  the  first 
one,  and  then  he  knew  that  he  was  saving  distance 
and  heading  straight  for  camp.  He  had  supposed 
that  the  trail  went  pretty  straight  from  the  vicin- 
ity of  camp  to  that  dismal  pond  in  the  woods. 
But  you  can  never  see  the  whole  of  a  trail  at  once 
and  it  must  have  formed  a  somewhat  rambling 
course. 

Anyway  there  were  the  lights  of  camp  off  to  the 
west  of  the  path,  and  Gilbert  Tyson  hurried 
thither. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

A  VOICE  IN  THE  DARK 

GILBERT  soon  discovered  his  mistake.  When 
a  trail  has  brought  you  to  a  spot  it  is  best  to 
trust  that  trail  to  take  you  back  again.  Beacons, 
artificial  beacons,  are  fickle  things.  Gilbert  had 
much  to  learn. 

He  had  lost  the  trail  and  he  soon  found  that 
he  was  following  a  phantom.  One  of  the  lights 
was  no  light  at  all,  but  a  reflection  in  a  puddle  in 
the  woods.  The  woods  were  still  full  of  puddles; 
though  the  ground  was  firm  it  still  bore  these 
traces  of  its  recent  soaking.  And  the  damage 
caused  by  the  high  wind  was  apparent  on  every 
hand,  in  fallen  trees  and  broken  limbs.  There 
was  a  pungent  odor  to  the  drenched  woods. 

Gilbert  picked  his  way  around  these  impedi- 
ments of  wetness  and  debris.  The  night  was 

m 


i46  TOM  SLADE'S 

clear.  There  were  a  few  stars  but  no  moon. 
Doubtless,  he  thought,  the  reflection  in  the  puddle 
was  the  reflection  of  a  star.  Presently  he  saw 
something  black  before  him.  In  his  maneuvers 
to  keep  to  dry  ground  he  had  in  fact  already  gone 
beyond  it,  and  looked  back  at  it,  so  to  say. 

Now  he  could  see  that  the  reflection  in  the  pud- 
dle was  derived  from  a  light  on  the  further  side 
of  the  black  mass.  Other  little  intervening  pud- 
dles were  touched  with  a  faint,  shimmering  bright- 
ness. 

Gilbert  approached  the  dark  object  and  saw 
that  it  was  a  fallen  tree.  The  wound  in  the  earth 
caused  by  its  torn-up  roots  formed  a  sort  of  cav- 
ern where  the  slenderer  tentacles  hung  limp  like 
tropical  foliage.  If  there  was  a  means  of  en- 
trance to  this  dank  little  shelter  it  must  be  from 
the  farther  side.  Even  where  Gilbert  stood  the 
atmosphere  was  redolent  of  the  damp  earth  of 
this  crazy  little  retreat.  For  retreat  it  certainly 
was,  because  there  was  a  light  in  it.  Gilbert  could 
only  see  the  reflection  of  the  light  but  he  knew 
whence  that  reflection  was  derived. 

He  approached  a  little  closer  and  was  sure  he 
heard  voices.  He  paused,  then  advanced  a  little 


DOUBLE  DARE  147 

closer  still.  Doubtless  this  freakish  little  shelter 
left  by  the  storm  was  occupied  by  a  couple  of 
hoboes,  perhaps  thieves. 

But  Gilbert  had  played  his  card  and  lost.  He 
had  forsaken  the  trail  for  a  light,  and  the  light 
had  not  guided  him  to  camp.  He  doubted  if  he 
could  find  his  way  to  camp  from  here.  You  are 
to  remember  that  Gilbert  was  a  good  scout,  but 
a  new  one. 

He  approached  a  little  closer,  and  now  he  could 
distinctly  hear  a  voice.  Not  the  voice  of  a  hobo, 
surely,  for  it  was  carolling  a  blithe  song  to  the 
listening  heavens.  Gilbert  bent  his  ear  to  listen: 

Oh,  the  life  of  a  scout  is  free, 
is  free; 

He's  happy  as  happy  can  be, 
can  be. 

He  dresses  so  neat, 
With  no  shoes  on  his  feet; 
The  life  of  a  scout  is  free ! 

The  life  of  a  scout  is  bold, 
so  bold ; 

His  adventures  have  never  been  told, 

been  told. 

His  legs  they  are  bare, 
And  he  won't  take  a  dare, 
The  life  of  a  scout  is  bold! 


T4«  TOM  SLADE'S 

The  savage  gorilla  is  mild, 
is  mild ; 

Compared  to  the  boy  scout  so  wild, 

so  wild. 

He  don't  go  to  bed, 
And  he  stands  on  his  head, 
The  life  of  a  scout  is  wild ! 


Gilbert  stood  petrified  with  astonishment.  In 
all  his  excursions  through  the  scout  handbook  he 
had  never  encountered  any  such  formula  for  scout- 
ing as  this.  No  scout  hero  in  Boys'  Life  had  ever 
consecrated  himself  to  such  a  program. 

There  was  a  pause  within,  during  which  Gil- 
bert crept  a  little  closer.  He  hardly  knew  any  of 
the  boys  in  camp  yet,  and  the  strange  voice  meant 
nothing  to  him.  He  knew  that  no  member  of  his 
troop  was  there. 

"Want  to  hear  another?"  the  singer  asked. 

"Shoot,"  was  the  laconic  reply. 

"This  one  was  writ,  wrot,  wrote  for  the  Camp- 
fire  Girls  around  the  blazing  oil  stove. 

"If  I  had  nine  lives  like  an  old  torn  cat, 

I'd  chuck  eight  of  them  away. 
For  the  more  the  weight,  the  less  the  speed, 
And  scouts  don't  carry  any  more  than  they  need; 

And  I'd  keep  just  one  for  a  rainy  day. 


DOUBLE  DARE  149 

"Good?  Want  to  hear  more?  Second  verse 
by  special  request.  They're  off: 

"If  I  could  turn  like  an  old  windmill, 

I'd  do  good  turns  all  day; 
With  noble  deeds  the  day  I'd  fill. 
But  you  see  I'm  not  an  old  windmilL 
And  I  ain't  just  built  that  way, 

I  ain't." 

Gilbert  decided  that  however  unusual  were  these 
ballads  of  scouting,  they  did  not  emanate  from 
thief  or  hobo ;  and  he  climbed  resolutely  over  the 
log.  Even  the  comparative  mildness  of  the  savage 
gorilla  to  this  new  kind  of  scout  did  not  deter 
him. 

The  scout  anthem  continued. 

"If  I  was  a  roaring  old  camp-fire, 

You  bet  that  I'd  go  out; 
Oh,  I'd  go  out  and  far  and  near, 
For  a  camp-fire  has  the  right  idea; 

And  knows  what  it's  about!" 

Gilbert  crept  along  the  farther  side  of  the  log 
till  he  came  to  an  opening  among  the  tangled 
roots.  It  was  a  very  small  but  cozy  little  cave 
that  he  found  himself  looking  into.  In  a  general 
way,  it  suggested  a  wicker  basket  or  a  cage,  except 


;i5o  TOM  SLADE'S 

that  it  was  black  and  damp.  Within  was  a  little 
fire  of  twigs.  Tending  it  was  a  young  fellow 
of  perhaps  twenty  years  of  age,  wearing  a  plaid 
cap.  He  was  stooping  over  the  little  fire.  Near- 
by, in  a  sort  of  swing  made  by  binding  two  hang- 
ing tentacles  of  root,  sat  the  wandering  minstrel, 
swinging  his  legs  to  keep  his  makeshift  hammock 
in  motion. 

Gilbert  Tyson  contemplated  him  in  speechless 
consternation.  There  he  was,  the  ideal  ragged 
vagabond,  and  he  did  not  cease  swinging  even 
when  he  discovered  the  visitor. 

"H'lo,"  he  said;  "gimme  my  hat,  that's  just 
what  I  wanted;  glad  to  see  you." 

Dumbfounded,  Gilbert  tossed  the  hat  over  to 
him. 

"I  wouldn't  sell  that  hat,"  said  Hervey,  putting 
it  on,  "not  for  a  couple  of  cups  of  cup  custard. 
Sit  down.  Here's  the  chorus. 

"Then  hurrah  for  the  cat  with  its  nine  little  lives, 

And  the  good  turn  windmill,  too. 
And  hurrah  for  the  fire  that  likes  to  go  out, 
When  the  hour  is  late  like  a  regular  scout; 
For  that's  what  I  like  to  do, 
/  do. 
You  bet  your  life  I  do!" 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

LOVE  ME,  LOVE  MY  DOG 

"WHERE  did  you  find  the  hat?"  Hervey  in- 
quired. "I  bet  you  can't  sit  on  this  without  hold- 
ing on.  Were  you  in  the  swamp?  This  is  my 
friend,  Mr.  Hood — Robin  Hood — sometimes  I 
call  him  Lid  instead  of  Hood.  Call  him  cap  if 
you  want  to,  he  doesn't  care,"  he  added,  still  swing- 
ing. 

Mr.  Robin  Hood  did  not  seem  as  much  at 
ease  as  his  young  companion.  He  seemed  rather 
troubled  and  glanced  sideways  at  Gilbert. 

"We  should  worry  about  his  name  if  he  doesn't 
want  to  give  it,  hey?"  Hervey  said,  winking  at 
Gilbert.  "What's  in  a  name?" 

Gilbert  was  shrewd  enough  not  to  mention  Tom 
but  to  give  his  visit  the  dignity  of  highest  author- 
ity. 

151 


152  TOM  SLADE'S 

"Well,  this  is  a  big  surprise  to  me,"  he  said, 
"and  I'm  mighty  glad  it's  this  way,"  he  added  with 
a  deep  note  of  sincerity  and  relief  in  his  voice. 
"I  was  sent  from  the  office  to  find  you  and  give 
you  this  note.  I  tracked  you  to  the  pond  and  I 
thought — golly,  I'm  glad  it  isn't  so — but  I  thought 
you  went  down  in  the  quicksand.  I  near  got  into 
it  myself." 

"Me?" 

"Yes,  how  did  you " 

"Easiest  thing  in  the  world.  I  knew  if  I  could 
get  to  the  log — did  you  see  the  log?" 

"It  isn't  there  now." 

"I  knew  if  I  could  get  to  that  I  could  jump  from 
it  to  the  pond." 

"And  did  you?" 

"Surest  thing.  I  kept  chucking  the  suit-case 
ahead  and  stepping  on  it.  I  had  an  old  board, 
too.  I  guess  they're  both  gone  down  by  now." 

"Yes." 

"When  I  got  to  the  log  I  was  all  hunk — for 
half  a  minute.  'One  to  get  ready,'  that's  what  I 
said.  Oh,  boy,  going  down.  Toys  and  station- 
ery in  the  basement." 

Just  in  that  moment  Gilbert  thought  of  the  bird. 


DOUBLE  DARE  153 

"Yes?"  he  urged,  "and  then?" 

"One  to  get  ready, 
One  to  jump  high, 
One  to  light  in  the  pond  or  die." 

"And  you  did  it?  I  heard  you  were  reckless. 
Here,  read  the  note,"  Gilbert  said  with  uncon- 
cealed admiration.  The  wandering  minstrel  had 
made  another  capture. 

He  was,  however,  a  little  sobered  as  he  opened 
the  envelope.  He  had  never  been  the  subject  of 
an  official  missive  before.  He  had  never  been 
honored  by  a  courier.  He  had  won  badges  and 
had  an  unique  reputation  for  stunts.  But  when 
the  momentary  sting  had  passed  it  cannot  be  said 
that  he  left  camp  with  any  fond  regrets.  On  the 
other  hand,  he  bore  the  camp  and  his  scoutmaster 
no  malice  now.  He  who  forgets  orders  may  also 
forget  grievances.  In  Hervey's  blithe  nature 
there  was  no  room  for  abiding  malice. 

"What  are  they  trying  to  hand  me  now?"  he 
asked,  reading  the  notice. 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  it,"  said  Gilbert; 
3<I  think  you  have  to  come  back,  don't  you?" 

"Sure,  I've  got  the  Gold  Cross  wished  on  me." 


TOM  SLADE'S 

"The  cross?"  said  Gilbert  in  admiring  surprise. 
"What  for?" 

"Search  me.  They're  going  to  test  some 
money  or  something — testimony,  that's  it.  Some- 
thing big  is  going  to  happen  in  my  young  life." 

"You'll  go  back?"  Gilbert  asked  anxiously. 

"Sure,  if  Robin  Hood  can  go  with  me.  Love 
me,  love  my  dog." 

"I  don't  want  to  go  there,"  said  the  young 
fellow;  "you  kids  better  go." 

"Then  that's  the  end  of  the  red  cross,"  said 
Hervey,  still  swinging.  "I  mean  the  Gold  Cross 
or  the  double  cross  or  whatever  you  call  it. 
What'd'you  say,  Hoody?  They  have  good  eats 
there.  VVill  you  come  and  see  me  cop  the  cross?" 

"He  just  happened  to  blow  in  here,"  said  the 
stranger,  by  way  of  explaining  Hervey's  presence 
to  Gilbert.  "I  was  knocking  around  in  the  woods 
and  bunking  in  here." 

Gilbert  was  a  little  puzzled,  but  he  did  not  ask 
any  questions.  He  was  thoughtful  and  tactful. 
He  had  a  pretty  good  line  on  Hervey's  nature, 
too. 

"Of  course,  Hervey  has  to  go  back,"  he  said, 
as  much  for  Hervey's  benefit  as  for  the  stranger's. 


DOUBLE  DARE  155 

"I  say  all  three  of  us  go.     You'll  like  to  see  the 

»» 
camp 

"They've  got  a  washed-out  cove  and  an  oven 
for  making  marshmallows,  and  a  scoutmasters' 
meeting-place  with  a  drain-pipe  you  can  climb  up 
to  the  roof  on,  'n  everything,"  said  Hervey  in  a 
spirit  of  fairness  toward  the  camp  and  its  at- 
tractions. "They've  got  messboards  you  can  do 
hand-springs  on  when  the  cook  isn't  around.  I 
bet  you  can't  do  the  double  flop,  Hoody." 

"Well,  then,  we'll  all  go?"  Gilbert  asked  rather 
anxiously. 

Hervey  spread  out  his  arms  by  way  of  saying 
that  anything  that  suited  Gilbert  and  the  stranger 
would  suit  him. 

So  the  three  started  off  to  camp,  the  stranger 
rather  hesitating,  Gilbert  highly  elated  with  his 
success,  and  Hervey  perfectly  agreeable  to  any- 
thing which  meant  action. 

It  was  characteristic  of  Hervey  that  he  really 
had  not  the  faintest  idea  of  why  he  was  to  be 
honored  with  the  highest  scout  award.  He  had 
apparently  forgotten  all  about  his  almost  super- 
human exploit.  He  would  never  have  mentioned 
it  nor  thought  of  it.  He  did  recall  it  in  that 


TOM  SLADE'S 

moment  of  humiliation  when  Mr.  Denny  had 
talked  with  him.  But  he  would  not  speak  of  it 
even  then.  He  would  suffer  disgrace  first.  And 
how  much  less  was  he  likely  to  think  of  it  now! 
Surely  the  Gold  Cross  had  nothing  to  do  with  that 
fiasco  which  had  ended  in  unconsciousness.  That 
was  not  supreme  heroism.  There  was  something 
wrong,  somewhere.  That  was  just  a  stunt  .  .  , 

Well,  he  would  take  things  as  they  came — quick- 
sand, a  frantic  run  in  storm  and  darkness,  new; 
friends,  the  Gold  Cross,  anything  .  .  . 

Was  there  one  soul  in  all  that  great  camp  that 
really  understood  him? 

As  they  picked  their  way  through  the  woods, 
following  his  lead  (for  he  alone  knew  the  way) 
he  edified  them  with  another  song,  for  these  bal- 
lads which  had  made  him  the  wandering  minstrel 
he  remembered  even  if  he  remembered  nothing 
else. 

"You  wouldn't  think  to  look  at  me 
That  I'm  as  good  as  good  can  be— 

a  little  saint. 

You  wouldn't  care  to  make  a  bet, 
That  I'm  the  teacher's  little  pet — 
I  ain't" 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

TOM  LEARNS  SOMETHING 

TOM'S  absence  through  the  day  had  resulted  in 
an  accumulation  of  work  upon  his  table.  His 
duties  were  chiefly  active  but  partly  clerical. 
After  supper  he  started  to  clear  away  these  mat- 
ters. 

The  camp  had  already  been  in  communication 
with  Mr.  Temple,  its  founder,  and  plans  had  been 
made  for  an  inspection  of  the  washed-out  cove  by 
engineers  from  the  city.  It  was  purposed  to  build 
a  substantial  dam  at  that  lowest  and  weakest  place 
on  the  lake  shore.  There  was  a  memorandum 
asking  Tom  to  be  prepared  to  show  these  men 
the  fatal  spot  on  the  following  morning. 

Matters  connected  with  the  meeting  of  the  resi- 
dent Court  of  Honor  next  day  had  also  to  be 
attended  to.  Several  dreamers  of  high  awards 
would  have  a  sleepless  night  in  anticipation  of 

157 


158  TOM  SLADE'S 

that  meeting.  Hervey  Willetts  would  probably 
sleep  peacefully — if  he  went  to  bed  at  all. 

It  was  half  an  hour  or  so  before  Tom  got 
around  to  looking  over  the  names  of  new  arrivals. 
These  were  card  indexed  by  the  camp  clerk,  and 
Tom  always  looked  the  cards  over  in  a  kind  of 
casual  quest  of  familiar  names,  and  also  with  the 
purpose  of  getting  a  line  on  first  season  troops. 
It  was  his  habit  to  make  prompt  acquaintance  with 
these  and  help  them  over  the  first  hard  day  or  so 
of  strangeness. 

In  glancing  over  these  names,  he  was  greatly 
astonished  to  find  on  the  list  of  Mr.  Carroll's 
troop,  the  name  of  William  Corbett.  The  iden- 
tity of  this  name  with  that  of  the  victim  of  the 
automobile  accident  greatly  interested  him,  and 
he  recalled  then  for  the  first  time,  that  this  troop 
had  come  from  Hillsburgh,  in  the  vicinity  of  which 
the  accident  had  occurred.  Yet,  according  to  the 
newspaper,  the  victim  of  the  accident  had  been 
killed,  or  mortally  injured. 

As  Tom  pondered  on  this  coincidence  of  names 
there  ran  through  his  mind  one  of  those  snatches 
of  song  which  Hervey  Willetts  was  fond  of  sing- 
ing; 


DOUBLE  DARE  159 

Some  boys  were  killed  and  some  were  not, 

Of  those  that  went  to  war; 
And  a  lot  of  boys  are  dying  now, 

That  never  died  before. 

Before  camp-fire  was  started  Tom  hunted  up 
Mr.  Carroll. 

"I  see  you  have  a  William  Corbett  in  your 
troop,  Mr.  Carroll,"  said  he. 

"Oh,  yes,  that's  Goliath." 

"He — he  wasn't  the  kid  who  was  knocked  down 
by  an  auto?" 

"Why,  yes,  he  was.     You  know  about  that?" 

Tom  hesitated.  The  newspapers  had  not  yet 
had  time  to  publish  the  sensational  accounts  of 
Harlowe's  tragic  death  on  the  mountain  and  the 
facts  about  this  harrowing  business  had  not  been 
made  public  in  camp. 

"I  thought  the  kid  was  killed,"  Tom  said. 

"Oh,  no,  that  was  just  newspaper  talk.  It's  a 
long  way  from  being  mortally  injured  in  a  news- 
paper to  being  killed,  Mr.  Slade." 

"Y-es,  I  dare  say  you're  right,"  said  Tom,  still 
astonished. 

"Yes,  the  little  codger  has  a  weak  heart,"  said 
Mr.  Carroll.  "When  the  machine  struck  him  it 


160  TOM  SLADE'S 

knocked  him  down  and  he  was  picked  up  uncon- 
scious. Probably  he  looked  dead  as  he  lay  there. 
I  dare  say  that's  what  frightened  the  man  in  the 
machine.  No,  it  was  just  his  heart,"  he  added. 
"A  couple  of  the  boys  in  my  troop  knew  the 
family,  mother  did  washing  for  them  or  some- 
thing of  that  sort,  and  so  we  got  in  touch  with 
the  little  codger  and  there  was  our  good  turn  all 
cut  out  for  us. 

"You  know,  Slade,  we  have  a  kind  of  an  insti- 
tution— troop  good  turn.  Ever  hear  of  anything 
like  that?  So  we  brought  him  along.  He's  a 
kind  of  a  scout  in  the  chrysalis  stage.  He  doesn't 
even  know  what  happened  to  him.  A  good  part 
of  his  life  has  been  spent  in  hospitals;  he'll  pick 
up  though.  I  think  the  newspaper  reporters  did 
more  harm  than  the  autoist.  Do  you  know,  Slade, 
I  think  the  man  may  have  just  got  panicky,  like 
some  of  the  soldiers  in  the  war." 

"I've  seen  a  fellow  shrink  like  a  whipped  cur 
at  the  sound  of  a  cannon  and  then  I've  seen  him 
flying  after  the  enemy  like  a  fiend,"  said  Tom. 

"Yes,  human  nature's  a  funny  thing,"  said  Mr. 
Carroll. 

Tom's  mind  was  divided  between  admiration 


DOUBLE  DARE  161 

of  this  kind,  tolerant,  generous  scoutmaster  and 
astonishment  at  what  he  had  learned. 

"Well,  that's  news  to  me,"  he  said. 

"Yes,  the  main  thing  is  to  build  the  little  cod- 
ger up  now,"  Mr.  Carroll  mused  aloud. 

"Mr.  Carroll,"  said  Tom,  "Gilbert  didn't  say 
anything  about  going  up  the  mountain  with  me 
last  night?" 

"N-no,  I  don't  know  that  he  did." 

"The  trustees  didn't  want  anything  said  about 
the  matter  here  in  camp,  or  the  whole  outfit  would 
be  going  up  the  mountain.  But  I  suppose  the  pa- 
pers will  have  the  whole  business  by  to-morrow, 
and  you  might  as  well  have  it  now.  The  fellow 
who  ran  down  the  kid  was  found  crushed  to  death 
on  the  mountain  last  night.  His  name  was 
Aaron  Harlowe." 

Tom  told  the  whole  harrowing  episode  to  Mr. 
Carroll,  who  listened  with  interest,  commenting 
now  and  again  upon  the  tragic  sequel  of  the 
auto  accident.  It  was  plain,  throughout,  however, 
that  his  chief  interest  was  in  his  little  charge, 
Goliath. 

"That's  a  very  strange  thing,"  he  said;  "it  has 
a  smack  of  Divine  justice  about  it,  if  one  cares  to 


1 62  TOM  SLADE'S 

look  at  it  that  way.  Have  you  any  theory  of 
just  how  it  happened?" 

"I  haven't  got  any  time  for  theories,  Mr.  Car- 
roll ;  not  with  four  new  troops  coming  to-morrow. 
It's  a  closed  book  now,  I  suppose.  There  are 
some  funny  things  about  the  whole  business.  But 
one  thing  sure,  the  man's  dead.  I  have  a  hunch 
he  got  crazed  and  rattled  and  hid  here  and  there 
and  was  afraid  they'd  catch  him  and  finally  went 
up  the  mountain.  He  thought  he  had  killed  the 
kid,  you  see.  I'd  like  to  know  what  went  on  in- 
side his  head,  wouldn't  you?" 

"Yes,  I  would." 

Several  of  Mr.  Carroll's  troop,  seeing  him  talk- 
ing with  Tom,  approached  and  hung  about  as  this 
chat  ended.  Wherever  Tom  Slade  was,  scouts 
were  attracted  to  that  spot  as  flies  are  attracted 
to  sugar.  They  stood  about,  listening,  and  star- 
ing at  the  young  camp  assistant. 

"Well,  how  do  you  think  you  like  us  up  here?" 
Tom  asked,  turning  abruptly  from  his  talk  with 
their  scoutmaster.  "Think  you're  going  to  have 
a  good  time?" 

"You  said  something,"  one  piped  up. 

"Where's  Gilbert?"  another  asked. 


DOUBLE  DARE  163 

"Oh,  he'll  be  back  in  a  little  while,"  Tom  said. 
"I  sent  him  on  an  errand  and  I  suppose  he  got 
lost." 

"He  did  not  I"  several  vociferated. 

"No?"  Tom  smiled. 

"You  bet  he  didn't!" 

"Well,"  said  Tom,  laughing,  "if  you  fellows 
want  to  get  into  the  mix-up,  keep  your  eyes  on  the 
bulletin  board.  Everything  is  posted  there,  hikes 
and  things.  You'll  like  most  of  the  things  you 
see  there." 

"I'm  crazy  about  tomatoes,"  one  of  the  scouts 
ventured. 

Tom  smiled  at  Mr.  Carroll  and  Mr.  Carroll 
smiled  at  Tom. 

There  seemed  to  be  a  sort  of  unspoken  agree- 
ment among  them  all  that  Hervey  Willetts  should 
be  thought  of  ruefully,  and  in  a  way  of  disap- 
proval. But,  oddly  enough,  none  of  them  seemed 
quite  able  to  conceal  a  sneaking  liking  for  him, 
shown  rather  than  expressed. 

And  there  you  have  an  illustration  of  Hervey's 
status  in  camp  .  .  . 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

THE  BLACK  SHEEP 

THE  scouts  were  all  around  the  camp-fire  when 
Gilbert  Tyson  returned  with  his  captives.  As 
they  crossed  the  road  and  came  upon  the  camp 
grounds,  the  stranger  seemed  apprehensive  and  ill 
at  ease,  but  Hervey  with  an  air  of  sweeping  au- 
thority informed  him  that  everything  was  all 
right,  that  he  would  fix  it  for  him. 

"Don't  you  worry,"  he  said;  "I  know  all  the 
high  mucks  here.  You  leave  it  to  me."  He  was 
singularly  confident  for  one  in  disgrace.  'Til  get 
you  a  job,  all  right.  When  you  see  Slady  or 
Uncle  Jeb  you  just  tell  them  you're  a  friend  of 
mine."  Robin  Hood  seemed  somewhat  reassured 
by  the  words  of  one  so  influential.  By  way  of 
giving  him  a  cheery  reminder  of  certain  undesir* 
able  facts  and  reconciling  him  to  a  life  of  toil, 

164 


DOUBLE  DARE  165 

Hervey  sang  as  they  made  their  way  to  the  of- 
fice. 

"You  gotta  go  to  work, 
You  gotta  go  to  work, 
You  gotta  go  to  work — 
That's  true. 
And  the  reason  why  you  gotta  go  to  work 

IS 

The  work  won't  come  to  you 
SEE? 

"I  gotta  go  to  bed, 
I  gotta  go  to  bed, 
Like  a  good  little  scout — 
You  see. 
And  the  reason  why  I  gotta  go  to  bed 

IS 

The  bed  won't  come  to  me. 
D'you  see? 
The  bed  won't  come  to  me." 

This  ballad  of  toil  and  duty  (which  were  Her- 
yey's  favorite  themes)  was  accompanied  by  raps 
on  Gilbert's  head  with  a  stick,  which  became  more 
and  more  vigorous  as  they  approached  the  office. 
Here  the  atmosphere  of  officialdom  did  somewhat 
subdue  the  returning  prodigal  son  and  he  removed 
his  precious  hat  as  they  entered. 

This  matter  was  in  Tom  Slade's  hands  and  he 
was  going  to  see  it  through  alone.  From  camp- 


166  TOM  SLADE'S 

fire  his  watchful  eye  had  seen  the  trio  passing 
through  the  grove  and  he  was  in  the  office  before 
they  reached  it. 

The  office  was  a  dreadful  place,  where  the 
mighty  John  Temple  himself  held  sway  on  his  oc- 
casional visits,  where  councilmen  and  scoutmasters 
conferred,  and  where  there  was  a  bronze  statue 
of  Daniel  Boone.  Hervey  had  many  times  longed 
to  decorate  the  sturdy  face  of  the  old  pioneer  with 
a  mustache  and  whiskers,  using  a  piece  of  trail- 
sign  chalk. 

At  present  he  was  seized  by  a  feeling  of 
respectful  diffidence,  and  stood  hat  in  hand,  a  trifle 
uncomfortable.  Robin  Hood  was  uncomfortable 
too,  but  he  was  in  for  it  now.  He  was  relieved 
to  see  that  the  official  who  confronted  him  was 
an  easy-going  offhand  young  fellow  of  about  his 
own  age,  dressed  in  extreme  negligee,  sleeves 
rolled  up,  shirt  open,  face  and  throat  brown  like 
the  brown  of  autumn.  It  seemed  to  make  things 
easier  for  the  trio  that  Tom  vaulted  up  onto  the 
bookkeeper's  high  desk,  as  if  he  were  vaulting  a 
fence,  and  sat  there  swinging  his  legs,  the  very 
embodiment  of  genial  companionship. 


DOUBLE  DARE  167 

"Well,  Gilbert,  you  got  away  with  it,  huh?" 

"Here  he  is,"  said  Gilbert  proudly.  "I  found 
him  in  a  kind  of  cave  in  the  woods " 

"Gilbert  deserves  all  the  credit  for  finding  me," 
Hervey  interrupted.  "You've  got  to  hand  it  to 
him,  I'll  say  that  much." 

"It  isn't  everybody  who  can  find  you,  is  it?" 
said  Tom. 

"Believe  me,  you  said  something,"  Hervey 
ejaculated. 

"Well,  I'm  going  to  say  some  more,"  Tom 
laughed. 

"This  is  my  friend,"  said  Hervey;  "Robin 
Hood,  but  I  don't  know  his  real  name.  He's  a 
good  friend  of  mine,  and  he  can  play  the  banjo 
only  he  hasn't  got  one  with  him,  and  I  want  to 
get  him  a  job." 

"Any  friend  of  yours "  Tom  began  and 

winked  at  Gilbert. 

"What  did  I  tell  you?"  said  Hervey.  "Didn't 
I  tell  you  I'd  fix  it?" 

"I'm  glad  to  meet  you,  Mr.  Hood,"  said  Tom. 
"We're  expecting  to  be  pretty  busy  here,  I  can 
say  that  much,"  he  added  cautiously. 


568  TOM  SLADE'S 

"I  was  just  roaming  the  woods,"  said  the 
stranger.  "I  haven't  got  any  home;  out  of  luck. 
The  boys  insisted  on  my  coming." 

"Strangers  always  welcome,"  said  Tom  cheer- 
ily. 

It  was,  indeed,  true  that  strangers  were  always 
welcome.  Temple  Camp  was  down  on  the  ho- 
bo's blue  book  as  a  hospitable  refuge.  Stranded 
show  people  had  known  its  sheltering  kindness. 
Moreover,  Tom  was  not  likely  to  make  particular 
inquiry  about  Hervey's  chance  acquaintances* 
The  wandering  minstrel  had  brought  in  laid-off 
farm  hands,  a  strolling  organ  grinder  with  a 
monkey,  not  to  mention  two  gypsies,  a  peddler  of 
rugs  and  other  strays. 

"Well,  Tyson,"  said  Tom,  clasping  his  hands 
behind  his  head  and  swinging  his  legs  in  a  way 
of  utmost  good  humor,  "suppose  you  take  Mr. 
Hood  over  to  camp-fire  and  see  if  he  can  stand 
for  some  of  those  yarns.  Tell  Uncle  Jeb  he's 
going  to  hang  around  till  morning.  You  stay 
here,  Hervey.  I'd  like  to  hear  about  your  ad- 
ventures. Let's  see,  how  many  lives  have  you 
got  left  now?" 

"Believe  me,  I  did  some  stunt"  said  Hervey. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

STUNTS  AND  STUNTS 

FOR  a  minute  or  two,  Tom  sat  swinging  his 
legs,  contemplating  Hervey. 

"When  it  comes  to  stunts,"  said  he,  "you're 
down  and  out.  You  belong  to  the  'also  ram.' " 

"Me?" 

"Yes,  you." 

"I  can " 

"Oh,  yes,  you  can  do  a  lot.  You  ought  to  join 
the  Camp-fire  Girls.  You  were  asked  to  stay  at 
camp — I'm  not  talking  about  yesterday.  I'm 
talking  about  all  summer.  There's  an  easy  stunt. 
But  you  fell  down  on  it.  Don't  talk  to  me  about 
stunts." 

"Do  you  think  it's  easy  to  hang  around  camp 
$11  the  time?  It's  hard,  you  can  bet." 

"Sure,  it's  a  stunt.  And  you  can't  do  it.  Lit- 
169 


170  TOM  SLADE'S 

tie  Pee-wee  Harris  can  do  it,  but  you  can't.  Don't 
talk  stunts  to  me.  I  know  what  a  stunt  is." 

"What's  a  stunt?"  Hervey  asked,  trying  to  con- 
ceal the  weakness  of  his  attitude  with  a  fine  air 
of  defiance. 

"Why,  a  stunt  is  something  that  is  hard  to  do, 
that's  all." 

"You  tell  me " 

"I'll  tell  you  something  I  want  you  to  do  and 
you're  afraid  to  do  it — you're  afraid" 

"I  won't  take  a  dare  from  anybody,"  Hervey 
shouted. 

"Well,  you'll  take  one  from  me." 

"You  dare  me  to  do  something  and  see." 

"All  righto.  I  dare  you  to  go  up  to  your  troop's 
cabin  after  camp-fire  and  tell  Mr.  Denny  tha* 
you've  been  a  blamed  nuisance  and  that  you're 
out  to  do  the  biggest  stunt  you  ever  did.  And 
that  is  to  do  what  you're  told.  Tell  him  I  dared 
you  to  do  it,  and  tell  him  what  you  said  about  not 
taking  a  dare  from  anybody.  Tell  him  you  never 
knew  about  its  being  a  stunt. 

"Of  course  I  know  you  won't  do  it,  because 
it's  hard,  and  I  know  you're  not  game.  I  just 
Want  to  show  you  that  you're  a  punk  stunt-puller. 


DOUBLE  DARE  :i7i 

I  dare  you  to  do  it  I     I  DARE  you  to  do  it!" 

"I  won't  take  a  dare  from  anybody !"  said  Her- 
yey,  excitedly. 

"Oh,  yes,  you  will.  You'll  take  one  from  me. 
[You're  a  four-flusher,  that's  what  you  are.  Go 
ahead.  I  dare  you  to  do  it.  You  won't  take  a 
dare,  hey?  I  double  dare  you  to!  There. 
Now  let's  see.  Go  up  there  and  tell  Mr.  Denny 
you're  going  to  get  away  with  the  biggest  thing 
you  ever  tried — the  biggest  stunt.  And  to-mor- 
row morning  before  the  Court  meets  you  come 
in  here  and  see  Mr.  Fuller  and  Uncle  Jeb  and 
me.  Now  don't  ask  any  questions.  You  came 
in  here  all  swelled  up,  regular  fellow  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing,  and  I'm  calling  your  bluff." 

"You  call  me  a  bluffer?"  Hervey  shouted. 

"The  biggest  bluffer  outside  of  Pine  Bluff." 

"Me?" 

"Yes,  you." 

**I  wouldn't  take  a  dare  from  you  or  anybody 
like  you !" 

'^Actions  speak  louder  than  words." 

"I  never  saw  the  stunt  yet " 

"Well,  here  it  is  right  now.  I  dare  you.  I  dare 
you,"  said  Tom,  jumping  down  and  looking  right 


172  TOM  SLADE'S 

in  Hervey's  face,  "I  DOUBLE  DARE  YOU!" 
Hervey  grabbed  his  hat  from  the  bench. 

"A  kid  that  gives  a  double  dare 

For  shame  and  grins  he  must  prepare." 

he  shouted. 

"That's  me,"  said  Tom. 

Before  he  realized  what  had  happened,  he  heard 
the  door  slam  and  he  found  himself  alone,  laugh- 
ing. Hervey  had  departed,  in  wrath  and  des- 
peration, bent  upon  his  next  stunt. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

THE   DOUBLE   DARE 

MR.  DENNY'S  troop  had  turned  in  with  the 
warmth  of  the  roaring  camp-fire  still  lingering  in 
their  cheeks  when  the  black  sheep  went  up  the  hill. 
The  scoutmaster,  sitting  in  his  tepee,  was  writing 
up  the  troop's  diary  in  the  light  of  a  railroad 
lantern.  He  showed  no  great  surprise  at  his 
wandering  scout's  arrival. 

"Well,  Hervey,"  said  he.  "Back  again?  I 
told  you  it  would  be  better  to  wait  till  morning. 
Missed  the  train,  eh?  You  see  my  advice  is  some- 
times best  after  all."  He  did  not  look  up  but 
continued  writing.  If  Hervey  had  expected  to 
create  a  sensation  he  was  disappointed.  "Better 
go  to  bed  and  catch  the  nine  fifty-two  in  the  morn- 
ing," said  Mr.  Denny  kindly. 

"I  came  back  because  Tom  Slade  sent  for  me. 


I74  TOM  SLADE'S 

I've  got  to  get  a  medal,  but  I  don't  care  anything 
about  that." 

"So?     What's  that  for?" 

"I  always  said  that  fellow  Slade  was  a  friend 
of  mine,  but  I  wouldn't  let  him  put  one  over  on 
me,  I  wouldn't." 

"You  mean  he  was  just  fooling  you  about  the 
medal?" 

"Maybe  you  can  tell,"  said  Hervey.  "Because 
anyway  I  didn't  do  anything  to  win  a — the  Gold 
Cross." 

Mr.  Denny  raised  his  eyebrows  in  frank  sur- 
prise. "The  Gold  Cross?" 

"I  don't  care  anything  about  that,  anyway," 
said  Hervey;  "but  I  wouldn't  take  a  dare  from 
anybody;  I  never  did  yet." 

"No?" 

"He  said — that  fellow  said — he  said  I  wouldn't 
dare  to  come  up  here  and  tell  you  that  I  can — 
do  anything  I  want  to  do." 

"That's  just  what  you've  been  doing,  Hervey." 

"But  you  know  I'm  good  on  stunts?  And  he 
said — this  is  just  what  he  said — he  said  I  couldn't 
do  that  kind  of  a  stunt — staying  here  when  I'm 
told  to.  He  dared  me  to.  Would  you  take  a 


DOUBLE  DARE  175 

double  dare  if  you  were  me?  They're  worse  than 
single  ones." 

"N-no,  I  don't  know  that  I  would,"  said  Mr. 
Denny,  thoughtfully. 

"He  said  I  wouldn't  dare — do  you  know  what 
a  four  flusher  is?" 

"Why— y-es." 

"He  said  I  wouldn't  dare  to  come  up  here  and 
tell  you  that  I  know  I'm  wrong  to  make  so  much 
trouble  and  he  said  I  couldn't  do  a  stunt  like  stay- 
ing in  camp.  Would  you  let  any  fellow  call  you 
a  Camp-fire  Girl — would  you?  Gee  Williger, 
that  stunt's  a  cinch!" 

Mr.  Denny  closed  his  book,  leaving  his  pen  in  it 
as  a  book-mark,  and  clasping  his  hands,  listened 
attentively.  It  was  the  first  slight  sign  of  sur- 
render. He  looked  inquiringly  and  not  unkindly 
at  the  figure  that  stood  before  him  in  the  dim  lan- 
tern light.  He  noted  the  torn  clothing,  the 
wrinkled  stocking,  the  outlandish  hat  with  its  holes 
and  trinkets.  He  could  see,  just  see,  those  clear 
gray  eyes,  honest,  reckless,  brave  .  .  . 

"Yes,  Hervey?" 

"Of  course  you  don't  have  to  keep  me  here,  I 
'don't  mean  that.  Because  that's  another  thing, 


176  TOM  SLADE'S 

anyway.  Only  I  want  you  to  tell  Slade  that  I 
did  dare,  because  I  wouldn't  take  a  double  dare 
not  even  from — from  Mr.  Temple,  I  wouldn't. 
So  then  he'll  know  I'm  not  afraid  of  you.  Be- 
cause even  you  wouldn't  say  I'm  a  coward." 

"No." 

"I  can  do  any  stunt  going,  I'll  let  him  know, 
and  I  won't  take  a  double  dare  from  anybody. 
Because  I  made  a  resolution  when  I  was  in  the 
third  primary  grade." 

"And  you've  always  kept  it?" 

"You  think  I'd  bust  a  resolution?  You  havft 
bad  luck  for  eight  years  if  you  do  that." 

"I  see." 

"No,  siree!" 

"And  so  you  think  you  could  do  this  stunt?" 

"I  can  do  any  stunt  going.  Do  you  know  what 
I  did " 

"Just  a  second,  Hervey.  I'd  like  to  see  you 
get  away  with  that  stunt." 

"But  I'm  not  asking  you  to  keep  me  here,"  Her- 
vey said,  giving  his  stocking  a  hitch,  "because  I'm 
a  good  loser,  I  am.  But  I  want  you  to  tell  that 
fellow  Slade — I  used  to  think  he  was  a  friend  o/ 


DOUBLE  DARE  177 

mine — I  want  you  to  tell  him  that  I  bobbed  that- 
dare." 

"Bobbed  it?" 

"Yes,  that  means  put  it  back  on  him." 

Mr.  Denny  paused. 

"Why  don't  you  tell  him  yourself,  Hervey?" 

"Because  he  doesn't  have  to  believe  me." 

"Has  any  one  ever  accused  you  of  lying,  Her- 
yey?" 

"Do  you  think  I'd  let  anybody?" 

"Hmm,  well,  I  think  you'd  better  bob  that  dare 
yourself.  But  of  course  you  ought  to  follow  it  up 
with  the  stunt." 

"Oh,  sure — only " 

"I'll  give  you  the  chance  to  do  that.  My  sport- 
ing blood  is  up  now " 

"That's  just  the  way  with  me,"  said  Hervey; 
"that's  where  you  and  I  are  alike." 

"Yes.  I  think  we'll  have  to  put  this  fellow 
Slade  where  he  belongs." 

"You  leave  that  to  me,"  said  Hervey. 

There  was  a  pause  of  a  few  moments.  The 
whole  camp  had  turned  in  by  now  and  distant 
voices  had  ceased.  A  cricket  chirped  somewhere 


178  TOM  SLADE'S 

close  by.  An  acorn  fell  from  a  tree  overhead 
and  rolled  down  the  roof  of  the  troop  cabin  a  few 
yards  distant,  the  sound  of  its  falling  emphasized 
by  the  stillness.  Hervey  hitched  up  his  stocking 
again.  Mr.  Denny  watched  him.  Perhaps  he 
was  studying  this  wandering  minstrel  of  his  more 
closely  than  ever  before.  It  may  have  been  that 
the  silence  and  isolation  were  on  Hervey's 
side  .  .  . 

"Anyway,  you  don't  have  to  keep  me  here,  be- 
cause— and  I  didn't  come  back  for  that." 

"Hervey,  you  spoke  about  a  medal — the  Gold 
Cross.  You  don't  mean  the  supreme  heroism 
award,  of  course.  Slade  didn't  try  to  lure  you 
back  with  hints  about  such  a  thing?" 

"Hanged  if  I  know  what  he  meant." 

"He  sent  a  note  after  you?  Have  you  it  with 
you?" 

"I  made  paper  bullets  out  of  it  to  shoot  at 
lightning  bugs  on  the  way  home." 

"Did  he  actually  mention  the  Gold  Cross?" 

"I  think  he  did — sure  I  never  did  anything  to 
win  that,  you  can  bet." 

"No.     And  I  think  Slade  adopted  very  ques- 


DOUBLE  DARE  179 

tionable  tactics  to  get  you  back.     Doubtless  his 
intentions  were  good " 

"I  wouldn't  let  that  fellow  ruin  my  young  life — 
don't  worry." 

"Well,  you'd  better  turn  in  now,  Hervey,  and 
don't  stay  awake  thinking  about  dares  and  stunts 
and  awards." 

And  indeed  Hervey  did  not  stay  awake  thinking 
of  any  such  things,  especially  awards.  In  more 
than  one  tent  and  cabin  on  that  Friday  night  were 
sleepless  heads,  tossing  and  visioning  the  mor- 
row which  would  bring  them  merit  badges, 
and  perhaps  awards  of  higher  honor — silver, 
bronze  .  .  . 

But  the  head  of  Hervey  Willetts  rested  quietly 
and  his  sleep  was  sound.  He  took  things  as  they 
came,  as  he  had  taken  the  letter  out  of  Gilbert's 
hands.  There  was  a  mistake  somewhere,  or  else 
Tom  Slade  had  caught  him  and  brought  him 
back  by  a  mean  trick  and  a  false  promise.  But 
he  did  not  hold  that  against  Tom.  What  he 
held  against  Tom  was  that  Tom  had  made  him 
take  a  double  dare.  He  '-new  he  had  done  noth- 
ing to  win  so  high  an  honor  as  that  golden  treas- 


I8o  TOM  SLADE'S 

ure,  so  rare,  so  coveted.  .  .  .  What  he  had  done 
was  already  ancient  history  and  forgotten.  And 
it  had  no  relation  to  the  Gold  Cross.  And  so  he 
slept  peacefully. 

The  thing  that  he  most  treasured  was  his  deco* 
rated  hat,  and  so  that  this  might  not  get  away 
from  him  again,  he  kept  it  under  his  pillow.  .  .  . 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

THE  COURT  IN  SESSION 

FROM  his  conversation  with  Tom,  Mr.  Denny 
knew  (if  indeed  he  had  not  known  it  before)  that 
the  young  assistant  had  a  strong  liking  for  this  bah, 
bah  black  sheep.  He  knew  that  Tom  had  been 
responsible  for  Hervey's  latest  truancy  and  he  be- 
lieved that  Tom,  knowing  that  a  little  trick  was 
the  only  way  to  bring  Hervey  back,  might  have 
played  such  a  little  trick,  then  sent  him  up  the  hill 
to  square  himself. 

Mr.  Denny  was  quite  in  sympathy  with  the  stunt 
and  double  dare  business,  but  he  did  not  approve 
of  trying  to  circumvent  Hervey  by  dangling  the 
Gold  Cross  before  his  eyes.  He  was  afraid  that 
Hervey  would  not  forget  this  and  that  the  disap- 
pointment would  be  keen.  As  we  know,  Tom 

181 


i82  TOM  SLADE'S 

was  dead  set  against  this  kind  of  thing.  Mr, 
Denny  did  not  know  that.  But  he  did  know  that 
Hervey  was  unfamiliar  with  the  rigorous  require- 
ments for  winning  the  highest  award,  for  most  of 
the  pages  in  Hervey's  handbook  had  been  used  to 
make  torches  and  paper  bullets.  Mr.  Denny  was 
resolved  that  Tom  Slade  should  not  get  away  with 
such  tactics  unrebuked.  He  was  resolved  to  speak 
to  the  Honor  Court  about  it  in  the  morning.  He 
would  not  have  one  of  his  boys  made  the  victim, 
of  vain  hopes.  .  .  . 

Early  in  the  morning,  Tom  took  a  little  stroll 
with  Robin  Hood  and  improved  his  acquaintance. 
Tom  liked  odd  people  as  much  as  Hervey  did  and 
'he  found  this  unfortunate  stranger  rather  inter- 
esting. One  thing,  in  particular,  he  learned  from 
him  which  was  of  immediate  interest  to  him  and 
which  Hervey,  with  characteristic  heedlessness, 
had  forgotten  to  mention. 

"I  dare  say  we  can  dig  you  up  something  to 
do,"  said  Tom,  "when  the  work  on  the  dam  gets 
started.  That'll  be  in  two  or  three  days,  I  guess. 
Suppose  you  hang  around." 

"I'd  like  to  stay  right  here  for  the  rest  of  the 


DOUBLE  DARE  183 

summer,"  said  the  young  fellow.  "I'm  out  of 
luck  and  I'm  all  in." 

"France?"  Tom  queried.  For  soldiers  out  of 
luck  were  not  uncommon  in  camp. 

"No,  just  hard  luck;  lost  my  grip,  that's  all.'* 

"Well,  hang  around  and  maybe  you'll  pull  to- 
gether. I've  seen  lots  of  shell-shock;  had  it  my- 
self, in  fact." 

"Oh,   it's  nothing  like  that." 

"Come  in  and  see  the  Supreme  Court  in  ses- 
sion, won't  you  ?  It's  great.  We  have  this  twice 
during  the  summer.  Reminds  you  of  the  League 
of  Nations  in  session  .  .  .  H'lo,  Shorty,  what  are 
you  here  for?  More  merit  badges?" 

Outside  the  main  pavilion  the  choicest  spirits  of 
camp  were  loitering;  Pee-wee  Harris  still  working 
valiantly  on  the  end  of  his  breakfast,  Roy  Blake- 
ley  of  the  Silver  Foxes,  Bert  Winton  on  from 
Ohio  with  the  Bengal  Tigers,  and  Brent  Gaylong, 
leader  of  the  Church  Mice  from  Newburgh.  He 
was  a  sort  of  scoutmaster  and  patrol  leader  rolled 
into  one,  was  Brent,  a  lanky,  slow  moving  fellow 
with  a  funny  squint  to  his  face,  and  a  quiet  way 
of  seeing  the  funny  side  of  things.  You  had  only 
to  look  at  him  to  laugh. 


184  TOM  SLADE'S 

"Tickets  purchased  from  speculators  not  good," 
he  was  saying. 

Inside,  the  place  was  half  filled  with  scouts,  with 
a  sprinkling  of  scoutmasters.  The  members  of 
the  resident  Court  of  Honor  were  already  seated 
behind  a  table  and  business  was  going  forward. 
Much  had  already  been  despatched. 

After  a  little  while  Mr.  Denny  came  in  and  sat 
down.  Other  scoutmasters  sauntered  in,  and 
scouts  singly  and  in  groups.  One  proud  scout 
went  out  with  three  new  merit  badges  and  was  vo- 
ciferously cheered  outside. 

Another  didn't  quite  make  the  pathfinder's 
badge;  another  the  camp  honor  flag  for  good 
turns.  Still  another  got  the  Life  Scout  badge, 
and  so  it  went.  Honor  jobs  for  the  ensuing 
week  were  given  out.  There  were  many  strictly 
camp  awards,  not  found  in  the  handbook.  The 
Temple  Paddle  was  awarded  to  a  proud  canoeist. 
Scouts  came  and  went.  Sometimes  the  interest 
was  keen  and  sometimes  it  lagged. 

Hervey  Willetts  came  sauntering  up  from  the 
boat  landing,  his  hat  at  a  rakish  angle,  and  try- 
ing to  balance  an  oar-lock  on  his  nose.  He  had 


DOUBLE  DARE  185 

an  air  of  wandering  aimlessly  so  that  his  arrival 
at  the  pavilion  seemed  quite  a  matter  of  chance. 
A  morning  song  was  on  his  lips: 

The  life  of  a  scout  is  sweet, 
is  sweet, 

The  rubbish  he  throws  in  the  street, 

the  street. 

He  uses  soft  words, 
And  he  shoots  all  the  birds; 
The  life  of  a  scout  is  sweet. 

Being  a  lone,  blithe  spirit,  a  kind  of  scout  sky- 
lark as  one  might  say,  he  had  not  many  friends  in 
camp.  The  rank  and  file  laughed  at  him,  were 
amused  at  his  naive  independence,  and  regarded 
him,  not  as  a  poor  scout,  but  rather  as  not  exactly 
a  scout  at  all.  They  did  not  see  enough  of  him; 
he  flew  too  high.  He  was  his  own  best  compan- 
ion. 

Consequently  when  he  sauntered  with  a  kind  of 
whimsical  assurance  into  that  exalted  official  con- 
clave most  of  them  thought  that  he  had  dropped 
in  as  he  might  have  dropped  into  the  lake.  There 
was  a  little  touch  of  pathos,  too,  in  the  fact  that 
the  loiterers  outside  did  not  speak  to  him  as  he 


1 86  TOM  SLADE'S 

passed  in.  It  was  just  that  they  did  not  know  him 
well  enough;  he  was  not  one  of  them.  He  was 
the  oddest  of  odd  numbers,  a  stormy  petrel  in- 
deed, and  they  did  not  know  how  to  take  him. 

So     he     was     alone     amid     three     hundred 
scouts  . 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

OVER  THE  TOP 

TOM  had  waited  patiently  for  Hervey  to  arrive. 
His  propensity  for  not  arriving  had  troubled 
Tom.  But  whether  by  chance  or  otherwise  there 
he  was,  and  Tom  lost  no  time  in  getting  to  his 
feet. 

"Before  the  court  closes,"  he  said,  "I  want  to 
ask  to  have  a  blank  filled  out  to  be  sent  to  the 
National  Honor  Court,  on  a  claim  for  the  Gold 
Cross  award.  I  would  like  to  get  it  endorsed  by 
the  Local  Council  to-day  so  it  will  get  to  Na- 
tional Headquarters  Monday." 

You  could  have  heard  a  pin  drop  in  that  room. 
The  magic  words  Gold  Cross  brought  every  whis- 
pering, dallying  scout  to  attention.  There  was  a 
general  rustle  of  straightening  up  in  seats.  The 
continuous  departing  ceased.  Faces  appeared  at 
the  open  windows. 


1 88  TOM  SLADE'S 

The  Gold  Cross. 

Mr.  Denny  looked  at  Tom.  The  young  as- 
sistant, in  his  usual  negligee,  was  very  offhand  and 
thoroughly  at  ease.  He  seemed  to  know  what  he 
was  talking  about.  All  eyes  were  upon  him. 

"If  you  want  the  detailed  statements  of  the 
three  witnesses  written  out,  that  can  be  done. 
But  the  National  Court  will  take  the  recommen- 
dation without  that  if  it's  endorsed  by  the  Local 
Council.  That  was  done  in  the  case  of  Albert 
Nesbit,  who  won  the  Gold  Cross  here  three  years 
ago.  I'd  rather  do  it  that  way." 

"What  is  the  name,  Mr.  Slade?" 

"Willetts — Hervey  Willetts.  You  spell  it  with 
two  TV 

"This  can  be  done  without  witnesses,  on  exam- 
ination, Mr.  Slade." 

"The  winner  isn't  a  good  subject  for  exam- 
ination," said  Tom;  "I  think  the  witnesses  would 
be  better." 

"Just  so." 

"I  might  say,"  said  Tom,  "that  this  is  the  first 
chance  I've  had  to  tell  about  this  thing.  On  the 
night  of  the  storm  I  sent  Willetts  from  the  cove 
and  told  him  to  catch  the  bus  and  stop  it  before 


DOUBLE  DARE  189 

!t  reached  the  bridge.  I  didn't  think  he  could 
do  it  but  I  didn't  say  so.  He  had  two  miles  to  go 
through  the  storm,  running  all  the  way.  The 
wind  was  in  his  face.  Of  course  we  all  know  what 
the  storm  was.  His  scoutmaster  had  told  him 
not  to  leave  camp.  If  this  was  an  emergency 
then  it  comes  under  By-law  Twenty-seven.  You'll 
have  to  decide  that.  It  was  on  account  of  the 
flood  I  took  him,  not  on  account  of  the  bus.  The 
lake  was  running  out." 

"Did  he  reach  the  bus?"  Mr.  Fuller  asked. 

"He  reached  the  bus,  but  he  doesn't  know  how. 
The  last  he  remembered  is  that  he  fell  because 
his  foot  was  caught  in  a  hole.  I  don't  know,  no- 
body knows  how  he  did  that  thing.  Here's  a 
man  who  was  in  the  woods  that  night  and  saw 
him.  He  met  him  about  half  way  and  says  he 
was  so  exhausted  and  excited  he  couldn't  speak. 
He  told  this  man  that  he  had  to  hurry  on  to  save 
some  people's  lives.  He  meant  the  people  in  the 
bus.  How  he  got  from  the  place  where  he  fell 
to  the  bus  is  a  mystery.  When  he  did  get  there 
he  couldn't  speak,  so  he  grabbed  one  of  the  horses. 
His  foot  was  wrenched  and  he  was  unconscious. 

"When  they  got  him  in  the  bus  he  muttered 


[I9o  TOM  SLADE'S 

something  and  they  thought  he  was  talking  about 
his  foot.  It  was  the  bridge  he  was  talking  about. 
But  what  he  said  prompted  Mr.  Carroll  to  send 
another  scout  forward,  and  he  stopped  the  bus. 
That's  all  there  is  to  it.  He  got  there  and  it 
nearly  killed  him.  Darby  Curren,  who  is  here  to 
tell  you,  thought  he  was  a  spook. 

"Now  these  three  people,  Mr.  Hood,  Darby 
Curren  and  Mr.  Carroll,  can  tell  you  what  they 
know  about  it.  It's  one  of  those  cases  where  the 
real  facts  didn't  come  out.  Hervey  Willetts  saved 
the  lives  of  twenty-two  people  at  grave  danger  to 
his  own.  That  satisfies  the  handbook.  He  doesn't 
care  four  cents  about  the  Gold  Cross,  but  right  is 
right,  and  I'm  here  to  see  that  he  gets  it.  Stand 
up,  Hervey.  Stand  out  in  the  aisle."  Suddenly 
Tom  was  seated. 

So  there  stood  the  wandering  minstrel,  alone. 
Even  his  champion  was  not  in  evidence.  Nor  was 
his  troop  there  to  share  the  glory  with  him.  His 
scoutmaster  was  there,  but  he  seemed  too  dazed 
to  speak.  And  so  the  stormy  petrel  stood  alone, 
as  he  would  always  stand  alone.  Because  there 
was  no  one  like  him. 

"Willetts  is  the  name?     Hervey  Willetts?" 


DOUBLE  DARE  19 1 

"I  got  a  middle  name,  but  I  don't  bother  with 
it." 

"What  troop?" 

And  so  the  cut  and  dried  business,  so  strange 
and  unattractive  to  Hervey,  of  filling  in  the  blank, 
went  on.  He  did  not  greatly  care  for  indoor 
sports.  There  was  a  lull  in  the  general  interest. 
Scouts  began  lounging  and  whispering  again. 

In  that  interval  of  restlessness,  an  observant 
person  might  have  noticed,  sitting  in  the  back  part 
of  the  room,  the  rather  ungainly  figure  of  the  tall 
fellow,  Brent  Gaylong,  organizer  of  the  Church 
Mice  of  Newburgh.  He  seemed  to  be  the  center 
of  a  clamoring,  interested,  little  group. 

Roy  Blakeley's  brown,  crinkly  hair  could  be  seen 
through  the  gaps  made  by  other  heads.  Gay- 
long's  knees  were  up  against  the  back  of  the  seat 
in  front  of  him,  thus  forming  a  sort  of  slanting 
desk,  on  which  he  held  a  writing  tablet.  His 
head  was  cocked  sideways  as  if  in  humorous  but 
stern  criticism  of  his  own  work.  On  somebody's 
suggestion  he  wrote  something  then  crossed  it  out. 
There  were  evidently  too  many  cooks  at  the  broth, 
but  he  was  ludicrously  patient  and  considerate, 
being  no  doubt  chief  cook  himself.  There  was 


192  TOM  SLADE'S 

something  very  funny  about  his  calm,  preoccupied! 
demeanor  amid  that  clamoring  throng.  The  pro- 
ceedings in  the  room  interested  him  not. 

Nor  did  the  business  interest  many  others  now. 
There  was  a  continuous  drift  toward  the  door 
and  the  crowd  of  loiterers  outside  increased  and 
became  noisy.  The  wandering  minstrel  stood 
alone. 

The  voice  of  the  chairman  droned  on,  "Hill 
cabin  twenty-two.  Right.  We  will  talk  with 
these  gentlemen  afterwards.  It  may  be  a  week 
or  two  before  you  get  this,  Willetts.  It  has  to 
come  from  the  National  Court  of  Honor.  Mean- 
while, the  Camp  thanks  you,  and  is  proud  of  yout 
for  your  extraordinary  feat  of  heroism.  It's 
most  unusual " 

"Trust  him  for  that,"  some  one  interrupted. 

"I  could  run  faster  than  that  if  I  had  sneaks," 
said  Hervey. 

"I'm  afraid  no  one  would  have  seen  you  at 
all,  then,"  said  Mr.  Carlson. 

"All  you've  got  to  do  is  double  your  fists  and 
look  through  them  and  you  can  see  a  mile.  It's 
like  opera  glasses." 


-  STAND  UP.  HERVEY.    STAND  OUT  IN  THE  AISLE." 
Tom  Slade's  Double  Dare.  Pafe  19° 


DOUBLE  DARE  ;i93 

"So?  Well,  let  us  shake  hands  with  you,  my 
boy." 

The  next  thing  Hervey  knew,  Mr.  Denny's  arm 
was  over  his  shoulder,  while  with  his  other  hand 
he  was  shaking  the  hand  of  the  young  camp  as- 
sistant. 

"That's  all  right,  Mr.  Denny,"  said  Tom. 

"Slade,  I  want  you  to  know  how  much  I  respect 
you " 

"It's  all  in  the  day's  work,  Mr.  Denny." 

"I  want  you  to  know  that  Hervey  appreciates 
your  friendship.  You  believe  he " 

"I  believe  he's  a  wild  Indian,"  Tom  laughed. 
"Or  maybe  a  squirrel,  huh?  Hey,  Hervey?  On 
account  of  climbing  .  .  .  You  know,  Mr.  Denny, 
those  are  the  two  things  that  can't  be  tamed,  an 
Indian  and  a  squirrel.  You  can  tame  a  lion,  but 
you  can't  tame  a  squirrel." 

Mr.  Denny  listened,  smiling,  all  the  while  pat- 
ting Hervey's  shoulder. 

"Well,  after  all,  who  wants  to  tame  a  squirrel?" 
said  he. 

So  these  two  lingered  a  few  minutes  to  chat 


194  TOM  SLADE'S 

about  lions  and  Indians  and  squirrels  and 
things.  And  that  was  Hervey's  chance  to  get 
away. 

No  admiring  throng  followed  him  out.  His 
own  troop  was  not  there  and  knew  nothing  of  his 
triumph.  Probably  he  never  thought  of  these 
things.  A  scoutmaster  grabbed  his  hand  and 
said,  "Wonderful,  my  boy!"  Hervey  smiled  and 
seemed  surprised. 

Outside  they  were  sitting  around  on  railings 
and  steps  and  squatting  on  the  grass.  There  was 
a  little  ripple  of  murmuring  as  he  passed  through 
the  sprawling  throng,  but  no  one  spoke  to  him. 
That  was  not  because  they  did  not  appreciate,  but 
because  he  was  different  and  a  stranger.  Perhaps 
it  was  because  they  did  not  know  just  how  to 
take  him.  He  didn't  exactly  fit  in  ... 

His  ambling  course  had  taken  him  perhaps  a 
hundred  feet,  when  he  heard  some  one  shout, 
"Let'er  go!" 

Before  he  realized  it,  his  own  favorite  tune 
filled  the  air,  they  were  hurling  it  straight  at  him 
and  the  voices  were  loud  and  clear,  though  the 
words  were  strange. 

"Everybody/" 


DOUBLE  DARE  595 

"He's  one  little  bully  athlete, 
so  fleet; 
At  sprinting  he's  got  us  all  beat, 

yes,  beat. 

He  can  climb,  he  can  stalk, 
He  can  win  in  a  walk; 
He's  a  scout  from  his  head  to  his  feet—* 

THAT'S  YOU. 
He's  a  scout  from  his  head  to  his  feet" 

He  turned  and  stood  stark  still.  Some  of 
'them,  in  the  vehemence  of  their  song,  had  risen 
and  formed  a  little  compact  group.  And  again 
they  sang  the  verse,  the  words  THAT'S  YOU 
pouring  out  of  the  throat  of  Pee-wee  Harris  like 
a  thunderbolt.  Hervey  blinked.  His  eyes  glis- 
tened. Through  their  haze  he  could  see  the  lanky 
figure  of  the  tall  fellow,  Brent  Gaylong,  sitting 
upon  the  fence,  his  feet  propped  up  on  the  lower 
rail,  a  pair  of  shell  spectacles  half  way  down  his 
nose,  and  waving  a  little  stick  like  the  leader  of 
an  orchestra.  He  was  very  sober  and  looked 
absurdly  funny. 

"Let  him  have  the  other  one!"  some  one 
shouted. 

Gaylong  rapped  upon  the  fence  with  his  little 
stick,  and  then  gave  it  a  graceful  twirl  which 
an  improvement  on  Sousa. 


TOM  BLADE'S 
voices  rose  clear  and  strong: 

"We  don't  care  a  rap  for  the  flings  he  springs; 
He  doesn't  mean  half  of  the  things  he  sings. 

We're  all  down  and  out 

When  it  comes  to  a  scout 
That  can  run  just  as  if  he  had  wings  and  things. 
That  can  run  just  as  if  he  had  wings!" 

If  Hervey  had  waited  as  long  on  the  log  in  the 
quicksand  as  he  waited  now,  there  would  have 
been  no  Gold  Cross.  But  he  could  not  move,  he 
stood  as  one  petrified,  his  eyes  glistening.  The 
wandering  minstrel  had  been  caught  by  his  own 
tune. 

"Over  the  top,"  some  one  shouted. 

He  was  surrounded. 

"That's  you!    That's  you!" 

they  kept  singing.  He  had  never  been  caught  in. 
such  a  mix-up  before.  He  saw  them  all  crowding 
about  him,  saw  Roy  Blakeley's  merry  face  and 
the  sober  face  of  Brent  Gaylong,  the  spectacles 
still  half  way  down  his  nose  and  the  baton  over  his 
ear  like  a  lead  pencil.  They  took  his  hat,  tossed 
it  around,  and  handed  it  back  to  him. 

"No  room  on  that  for  the  Cross,"  said  Gay- 


DOUBLE  DARE  197 

long;  "he'll  have  to  pin  it  on  his  stocking;  com- 
bination Gold  Cross  and  garter.  Supreme  hero- 
ism— keeping  a  stocking  up " 

There  was  no  getting  out  of  this  predicament. 
He  could  escape  the  quicksand  but  he  couldn't 
escape  this.  He  looked  about  as  if  to  consider 
whether  he  could  make  a  leap  over  the  throng. 

"Watch  out  or  he'll  pull  a  stunt,"  one  shouted. 

But  there  was  really  no  hope  for  him.  The 
wandering  minstrel  was  caught  at  last.  And  the 
funny  part  of  the  whole  business  was  that  he  was 
caught  by  one  of  his  own  favorite  tunes.  The 
tunes  which  had  caught  so  many  others.  .  .  . 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

QUESTIONS 

HERVEY  had  now  no  incentive  to  leave  the 
vicinity  of  camp.  Doubtless  he  could  have  per- 
formed the  great  stunt  without  outside  help  (now 
that  he  knew  it  to  be  a  stunt)  but  luck  favored 
him  as  it  usually  did,  and  the  new  work  going 
forward  in  the  cove  was  enough  to  occupy  his  un- 
divided attention. 

He  made  his  headquarters  there  and  hobnob- 
bed with  civil  engineers  and  laborers  in  the  true 
democratic  spirit  which  was  his.  The  consulting 
engineer  they  called  him,  which  was  odd,  because 
Hervey  never  consulted  anybody  about  anything. 
The  men  all  liked  him  immensely. 

Another  to  benefit  by  the  work  on  the  new  dam 
was  Robin  Hood,  or  Mr.  Hood  as  he  was  re- 
spectfully called.  He  ran  the  flivver  truck  be* 

198 


DOUBLE  DARE  199 

tween  the  camp  and  the  cove,  carrying  stone,  and 
also  cement  and  supplies  which  came  by  the  rail- 
road. They  had  to  cut  a  road  from  the  main 
road  through  to  the  cove. 

But  one  thing  was  not  brought  by  the  flivver, 
and  that  was  the  suction  dredge,  a  horrible  mon- 
ster, a  kind  of  jumble  of  house  and  machinery 
which  came  on  a  big  six-ton  truck  and  was  launched 
into  the  lake.  Its  whole  ramshackle  bulk  shook 
and  shivered  when  it  was  in  operation  sucking  the 
bottom  of  the  lake  up  through  a  big  pipe  and 
shooting  it  through  another  long  pipe  which 
terminated  on  the  land.  Thus  sand  and  gravel 
were  secured  and  at  the  same  time  the  lake  was 
dredged  by  this  mammoth  vacuum  cleaner.  The 
pipeline  which  terminated  on  the  shore  was  sup- 
ported on  several  floats  a  few  yards  apart,  and 
the  first  scout  to  perform  the  stunt  of  walking  on 
this  pulsating  thing  was 

Guess. 

About  a  week  after  work  on  the  dam  had  begun, 
Tom  rode  over  to  the  cove  on  the  truck  with 
Robin  Hood.  He  had  struck  up  a  friendship 
with  the  stranger  and  liked  him,  as  every  one  did. 
Jhe  young  man  was  quiet,  industrious,  intelligent; 


200  TOM  SLADE'S 

He  did  not  encourage  questions  about  himself, 
but  Tom  was  the  last  one  to  criticise  reticence. 

Moreover,  labor  was  scarce  and  willing  workers 
in  demand.  One  thing  which  gave  the  young  man 
favor  in  camp  was  his  liking  for  the  younger 
boys,  who  frequently  rode  back  and  forth  with 
him. 

"Well,  it's  beginning  to  look  like  a  dam,  isn't 
it?"  Tom  said,  as  they  rode  along.  "You  won't 
be  able  to  get  much  more  stone  up  behind  the 
pavilion.  .  .  .  The  dam  ought  to  raise  the  lake 
level  about  five  or  six  feet,  the  engineers  say. 
That'll  mean  moving  a  couple  of  the  cabins  back. 
Storm  was  a  good  thing  after  all,  huh?" 

"I  guess  it  will  be  remembered  around  these 
parts  for  a  good  many  years,"  Tom's  companion 
said. 

"And  you  were  out  in  the  thick  of  it,"  said  Tom, 
in  his  usual  cheery  way.  "Up  on  the  mountain 
it  was  terrible." 

"On  the  mountain?  I  was — I  was  just  in  the 
woods.  It  was  bad  enough  there." 

He  looked  sideways  at  Tom,  rather  curiously. 
He  liked  Tom  but  he  could  never  make  up  his 


DOUBLE  DARE  201 

mind  about  him.  It  always  seemed  to  him,  as 
indeed  it  seemed  to  others,  that  Tom's  cheery, 
simple,  offhand  talk  bespoke  a  knowledge  of  many 
things  which  he  did  not  express.  It  was  often 
hard  to  determine  what  he  was  really  thinking 
about. 

"I  think  I'll  see  that  face  whenever  it  storms," 
Tom  said. 

"What  face?" 

"Harlowe's ;  he  was  just  staring  up  in  the  air. 
Ever  see  a  person  who  has  suffered  violent  death, 
Hood?" 

"Once." 

"Funny  thing,  did  you  ever  hear  how  the  eyes 
of  a  dead  man  reflect  the  last  thing  he  saw?  I 
know  over  in  France  they  often  saw  images  in 
the  eyes  of  dead  soldiers.  Near  Toul,  where  I 
was  stationed,  they  carried  in  a  dead  Frenchy  and 
you  could  see  an  airplane  in  his  eyes  just  as  sure 
as  day." 

"Did  you — did  you  ever  see  anything  like 
that?" 

"Oh,  sure.     Ask  any  army  surgeon  or  nurse." 

Hood  did  not  seem  altogether  satisfied  with  the 


202  TOM  SLADE'S 

answer.  He  was  clearly  perturbed.  But  he  did 
not  venture  another  question,  and  for  a  few  min- 
utes neither  spoke. 

"Another  thing,  too,  speaking  of  France,"  said 
Tom.  "We  could  always  pick  out  a  fellow  that 
came  over  from  England  as  soon  as  they  set  him 
to  driving  an  ambulance.  He'd  always  go  plunk 
over  to  the  left  side  of  the  road.  You  know  they 
have  to  keep  to  the  left  over  there  instead  of  to 
the  right " 

"Yes,  I  know "  Hood  began,  and  stopped 

short. 

"Been  over  there,  eh?" 

"I'm  not  English,  but  I  lived  there  several 
years,  and  drove  a  car." 

"Yes?"  Tom  laughed.  "Well,  now,  I  just  no- 
ticed how  you  kept  edging  over  to  the  left.  I 
didn't  think  anything  about  your  coming  from 
England,  but  I  just  happened  to  notice  it.  Takes 
a  long  time  to  get  a  habit  out  of  your  nut,  doesn't 
it?  People  might  say  you  were  reckless  and  all 
that  when  really  it  would  just  be  that  habit  that 
you  couldn't  get  away  from.  I've  got  so  as  I 
can  tell  a  Pittsburgh  scout,  or  a  Canadian  scout 
just  from  little  things — little  habits." 


DOUBLE  DARE  203 

"You're  a  pretty  keen  observer,"  said  Hood; 
"that  about  the  eyes  of  a  dead  person  interests  me. 
When  you  made  that  discovery  up  on  the  moun- 
tain, do  you  mean " 

"Your  engine  isn't  hitting  on  all  four,  Hood,'* 
Tom  interrupted. 

They  both  listened  for  a  minute. 

"Guess  not,"  said  the  driver. 

"Wire  off,  maybe,"  Tom  suggested. 

Hood  stopped  the  machine  and  got  out.  It 
would  have  been  more  like  Tom  to  jump  out 
and  investigate  for  himself,  especially  since  he 
had  run  the  old  truck  long  before  Hood  had  ever 
seen  it.  But  he  did  not  do  it.  Instead,  he  re. 
mained  seated.  Hood  was  right,  there  was  noth« 
ing  whatever  the  matter  with  the  engine.  He 
wondered  how  Tom  could  have  thought  there  was. 

Tom  seemed  not  greatly  interested  until  his  com- 
panion climbed  in,  then  he  craned  his  neck  out  and 
looked  down  where  Hood  had  been  standing. 

"All  right,"  he  finally  said;  "I  was  wrong,  as 
usual." 

"I  think  you're  usually  right,"  laughed  Hood. 

Whatever  the  cause,  Tom  seemed  thoughtful 
and  preoccupied  for  the  rest  of  the  journey.  He 


104  TOM  SLADE'S 

whistled  some,  and  that  was  a  sign  that  he  was 
thinking.  Once  he  seemed  on  the  point  of  saying 
something. 

"Hood,  do  you — — "  he  began.  Then  fell  to 
whistling  again. 

And  so  in  a  little  while  they  came  to  the  cove. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

THE  MESSAGE 

THE  altogether  thrilling  and  extraordinary  oc- 
currence which  is  all  that  remains  to  be  told  in 
this  narrative,  was  witnessed  by  a  dozen  or  more 
scouts.  It  happened,  as  deeds  of  heroic  impulse 
always  happen,  suddenly,  so  that  afterwards  ac- 
counts differed  as  to  just  how  the  thing  had  oc- 
curred. There  are  always  several  versions  of 
dramatic  happenings.  But  on  one  point  all  were 
agreed.  It  was  the  most  conspicuous  instance  of 
outright  and  supreme  heroism  that  Temple  Camp 
had  ever  witnessed  or  known.  And  because  there 
was  no  scout  award  permissible  in  the  occasion,  the 
boys  of  camp,  with  fine  inspiration,  named  the 
new  dam  after  the  hero,  who  with  soul  possessed 
challenged  the  most  horrible  monster  of  which 
the  human  mind  can  conceive,  threw  his  life  into 

205 


206  TOM  SLADE'S 

the  balance  with  an  abandon  nothing  less  than 
sublime,  and  found  his  reward  in  the  very  jaws 
of  horrible  and  ghastly  death. 

And  the  dam  was  well  named,  too,  for  it  repre- 
sented strength  superseding  weakness.  If  you 
should  ever  visit  Temple  Camp  you  should  end 
your  inspection  in  time  to  row  across  the  lake  in 
the  cool  of  the  twilight,  when  the  sun  has  gone 
down  behind  the  mountain,  and  take  a  look  at 
Robin  Hood's  Dam. 

The  scene  was  the  usual  morning  scene.  The 
slanting  sifter  was  dropping  its  rain  of  dirt 
through  the  grating  and  sending  the  stones  rolling 
•down.  The  mixer  was  revolving.  A  hundred 
feet  or  so  from  the  shore  the  clumsy  old  dredge 
was  drawing  up  sand  from  the  bottom  of  the  lake, 
and  the  big  pipeline  running  to  shore  was  pulsat- 
ing so  that  the  floats  supporting  it  rocked  in  the 
water.  At  the  end  of  this  pipeline  was  a  big 
pile  of  wet  sand  from  the  lake.  Men  were  carry- 
ing this  sand  off  in  wheelbarrows. 

A  few  of  the  scouts  were  busy  at  their  favorite 
pastime  of  walking  along  this  shaking  pipeline  to 
the  dredge  from  which  they  would  dive,  then  swim 
to  the  nearest  point  on  shore  and  proceed  again 


DOUBLE  DARE  207 

as  before.  Hervey  Willetts  had  been  the  Christo- 
pher Columbus  to  discover  this  endless  chain  of 
pleasure  and  he  had  punctuated  it  with  many  inci- 
dental stunts. 

It  was  not  altogether  easy  to  walk  on  the  trem- 
bling wet  piping,  but  those  who  did  it  were  of 
course  in  bathing  attire,  and  with  bare  feet  it  was 
not  so  hard,  once  one  got  the  hang  of  it. 

The  sight  of  this  merry  procession  proceeding 
on  its  endless  round  proved  too  much  for  one 
pair  of  eyes  that  watched  wistfully  from  the  shore. 
One  after  another  the  dripping  scouts  came  scram- 
bling up  out  of  the  water,  proceeded  to  the  shore 
end  of  the  pipeline,  walked  cautiously  along  it, 
feet  sideways,  crossed  the  dredge,  dived  and 
presently  appeared  again.  "Follow  your  leader" 
they  were  singing  and  it  was  funny  to  hear  how 
they  picked  up  the  tune  and  got  into  time  upon 
emerging. 

This  kind  of  thing  was  hard  to  resist.  It  is 
hard  not  to  dance  when  the  music  is  playing. 
There  was  an  alluring  fascination  about  it. 

Suddenly,  to  the  consternation  of  every  one, 
there  was  Goliath  in  the  procession,  moving  along 
the  pipeline,  keeping  his  foothold  by  frantic  gestic- 


208  TOM  SLADE'S 

ulations  with  his  arms.  He  was  laughing  all 
over  his  little  face.  He  swayed,  he  bent,  he  al- 
most fell,  he  got  his  balance,  almost  lost  it,  got 
along  a  few  steps,  and  then  down  he  went  with 
a  splash  into  the  water. 

This  climax  of  his  wild  enterprise  occurred  in 
a  gap  of  the  procession.  Some  scouts  had  fallen 
out,  others  were  clambering  out  the  other  side  of 
the  dredge.  So  it  happened  that  the  splash  was 
the  first  thing  to  attract  attention. 

Goliath  did  not  reappear  and  before  any  one 
had  a  chance  to  dive  or  knew  just  where  to  dive, 
something  was  apparent,  which  sent  a  shudder 
through  Tom  Slade,  who  was  standing  near  the 
end  of  the  pipeline.  The  pouring  forth  of  the 
wet  sand  out  of  the  pipe  ceased,  or  rather  lessened 
and  the  substance  shot  out  in  little  jerks.  Tom, 
ever  quick  to  see  the  significance  of  a  thing,  knew 
this  for  what  it  was.  It  was  an  awful  message 
from  the  bottom  of  the  lake. 

Something  was  clogging  up  the  suction  pipe 
there. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

THE   HERO 

THIS  thing,  as  I  said,  all  happened  in  a  flash. 
There  was  shouting,  there  was  running  about  .  .  . 

"Stop  the  machinery!"  some  one  yelled. 

"Reverse  your  engine  I" 

Tom  felt  himself  thrust  aside,  lost  his  balance 
and  fell  into  the  deposit  of  wet  sand.  The  pour- 
ing out  of  this  had  ceased. 

"Don't  let  him  do  that!  He's  crazy!"  some 
one  shrieked. 

"Reverse  the  engine;  he'll  come  up.  Don't 
dive — you !  You'll  be  chewed  to  pieces." 

"Who  dived?"  said  Tom,  scrambling  to  his  feet. 

"The  body  will  come  up  when  the  suction 
stops." 

"Both  bodies,  you  mean;  that  crazy  fool  dived." 

"They  won't  come  up  if  they're  wedged  in. 
Keep  her  going — reversed." 

Everybody  crowded  to  the  shore  and  to  the 
209 


210  TOM  SLADE'S 

deck  of  the  dredge.  The  pulsating  of  the  big 
line  had  ceased.  Men  shouted  to  do  this,  to  do 
that.  Others  contradicted.  All  eyes  were  upon 
the  water.  They  crowded  each  other,  watching, 
waiting  .  .  . 

Then  a  red  spot  appeared  on  the  surface.  It 
spread  and  grew  lighter  in  color  as  it  mingled  with 
the  water.  The  watchers  held  their  breath — 
gasped.  The  tension  was  terrible. 

Then  (as  I  said,  it  all  happened  in  a  flash)  a 
hand  covered  with  blood  reached  up  and  tried  to 
grasp  the  nearest  float.  It  disappeared,  but  Tom 
Slade  had  seen  it  and,  jumping  to  the  float,  he 
reached  down. 

"I've  got  him — keep  back — you'll  sink  the 
float " 

"Don't  let  go." 

It  was  not  in  the  nature  of  Tom  Slade  to  let 

go- 
Presently  a  ghastly  face  with  red  stained  hair 

streaming  over  it,  appeared. 

"Let  me  take  him,"  said  Tom. 

But  the  man  with  bleeding,  mangled  shoulder 
would  not  give  up  what  he  held,  as  in  a  grip  of 
iron,  with  his  other  arm. 


DOUBLE  DARE  2 it; 

And  so  Tom  Slade  dragged  the  wounded  crea- 
ture up  onto  the  float  and  there  he  lay  in  a  pool 
of  blood,  still  clinging  to  his  burden. 

The  little  boy  was  safe.  He  opened  his  eyes 
and  looked  about.  His  face  was  smeared  with 
mud,  one  of  his  shoes  was  gone,  his  foot  seemed 
to  be  twisted.  It  was  all  too  plain  that  he  had 
been  within  the  suction  pipe,  within  the  devouring 
jaws  of  that  monster  serpent,  when  his  frantic 
rescuer  had  dragged  him  back.  But  he  was  safe. 

His  rescuer  was  utterly  crazed.  Yet  he  seemed 
to  know  Tom. 

"Safe — alive "  he  muttered. 

"Yes,  he's  safe ;  lie  still.  Get  the  doctor,  some 
of  you  fellows — quick." 

"Send,  send — them  away — all.  You  know — 
'do  you — I'm  square — yes?" 

"Surely,"   said  Tom   soothingly.     "Lie  still." 

"He's  alive?" 

"Yes." 

"Listen,  come  close.  I'll  tell  you — now.  I 
murdered  a  kid  once — now — now  I've — I've 
saved  one " 

"Shh.     It's  the  same  one,  Harlowe." 

"You — you  know?" 


212  TOM  SLADE'S 

"Yes,  I  know.  We'll  talk  about  it  after. 
Hold  your  head  still — quiet — that's  right.  Don't 
think  about  it  now.  Shh — I  think  your  arm  is 
broken ;  don't  move  it." 

"I— I— killed " 

"No,  you  never  killed  any  one.  Lie  still — • 
please.  I  know  all  about  it.  We  can't  talk  about 
it  now.  But  you  never  killed  any  one,  remember 
that." 

"You  know  I'm  Harlowe?" 

"Yes.  Don't  talk.  That  was  little  Willie 
Corbett  you  saved.  Now  don't  ask  me  any  more 
now;  please.  You  don't  think  I'm  a  liar,  do  you?, 
Well,  I'm  telling  you  you  never  killed  anybody. 
See?  You're  not  a  murderer,  you're  a  hero.  I 
know  all  about  it.  ...  Lie  still,  that's  right.  .  .  . 
Don't  move  your  arm.  .  .  ." 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

HARLOWE'S  STORY 

AARON  HARLOWE  was  lying  on  his  cot  in  the 
Kttle  rustic  hospital  at  Temple  Camp.  It  was 
worth  being  sick  to  lie  in  that  hospital.  It  was 
just  a  log  cabin.  The  birds  sang  outside  of  it, 
you  could  hear  the  breeze  blowing  in  the  trees, 
you  could  hear  the  ripple  of  paddles  on  the  lake. 

Tom  Slade  sat  upon  the  side  of  the  cot. 

"You  see  when  I  found  the  map,  I  knew  you 
had  gone  up  the  mountain.  And  I  didn't  think 
you'd  go  up  there  unless  there  was  some  one  up 
there  that  you  knew.  The  light  was  up  there  be- 
fore you  went  up.  Now  that  you  tell  me  you 
went  up  there  to  hide  with  that  iriend  of  yours, 
everything  fits  together.  I  Lvevr  there  must  have 
been  two  or  you  up  mere,  6ecr vse  I  saw  your  foot- 
print. You  have  a  patch  on  the  sole  of  your  shoe 
and  the  dead  man  didn't.  See?  \Tbc»  I  asked 

213 


214  TOM  SLADE'S 

you  to  get  out  of  the  auto  it  was  just  because  I 
wanted  to  see  your  footprint.  Your  always  get- 
ting over  to  the  left  hand  side  of  the  road  made 
me  a  little  suspicious.  Footprints  don't  lie  and 
that  clinched  it." 

"But  did  you  see  my  image  in  the  eyes  of  the 
dead  man?"  Harlowe  asked  weakly. 

"I  saw  an  image  of  a  man;  I  couldn't  tell  it 
was  you.  But  I  knew  some  one  else  had  beea 
there.  Do  you  feel  like  telling  me  the  rest  now? 
Or  would  you  rather  wait." 

"You  seem  to  know  it  all,"  Harlowe  smiled. 
It  was  pleasant  to  see  that  smile  upon  his  pale, 
thin  face. 

"It  isn't  what  you  know,  it's  what  you  do  that 
counts,"  said  Tom  softly.  "And  see  what  you 
did.  Talk  about  heroism!" 

It  was  from  the  desultory  talk  which  followed 
that  Tom  was  able  to  piece  out  the  story,  the  mys- 
tery of  which  he  had  already  penetrated.  Har- 
lowe, in  fear  of  capture  after  his  supposed  killing 
of  the  child,  had  sought  refuge  in  the  hunting 
shack  of  his  friend  upon  the  mountain.  There 
the  two  had  lived  till  the  night  of  the  storm. 


DOUBLE  DARE 

When  Harlowe's  friend  had  been  crushed  under 
the  tree,  Harlowe  had  bent  over  him  to  make 
sure  that  he  was  dead.  It  was  then,  in  the  blind- 
ing storm,  that  his  license  cards  had  fallen  out  of 
his  pocket  and,  by  the  merest  chance,  on  the  open 
coat  of  the  dead  man. 

Harlowe  said  that  after  that  he  had  intended 
to  give  himself  up,  but  that  when  he  read  that 
Harlowe  had  been  discovered,  and  no  doubt 
buried,  he  had  resolved  to  let  his  crime  and  all  its 
consequences  be  buried  with  the  dead  man,  who 
like  himself  was  without  relations. 

But  Harlowe's  conscience  had  not  been  buried, 
and  it  was  in  a  kind  of  mad  attempt  to  square 
himself  before  Heaven,  and  still  the  voice  of  that 
silent,  haunting  accuser,  that  he  had  performed 
the  most  signal  act  of  heroism  and  willing  sacri- 
fice ever  known  at  Temple  Camp. 

As  Tom  Slade  emerged  after  his  daily  call  on 
the  convalescent,  a  song  greeted  his  ear  and  he 
became  aware  of  Hervey  Willetts,  hat,  stocking 
and  all,  coming  around  the  edge  of  the  cooking 
shack.  He  was  caroling  a  verse  of  his  favorite 
ballad: 


TOM  SLADE'S 

"The  life  of  a  scout  is  kind, 
is  kind, 

His  handbook  he  never  can  find, 
can  find. 

He  don't  bother  to  look, 
In  the  little  handbook. 
The  life  of  a  scout  is  kind." 


"Hunting  for  your  handbook,  Hervey?" 

"I  should  fret  out  my  young  life  about  the 
handbook." 

"Walking  my  way?" 

"Any  way,  I'm  not  particular." 

"Cross  come  yet?" 

"I  haven't  seen  it.  Do  you  think  it  would  look 
good  on  my  hat?" 

"Why,  yes,"  Tom  laughed.  "Only  be  sure  to 
pin  it  on  upside  down." 

"Why?" 

"Why,  because  then  when  you're  standing  on 
your  head,  it'll  be  right  side  up.  See?" 

"Good  idea.     I  guess  I  will,  hey?" 

"Sure,  I  —  I  double  dare  you  to,"  said  Tom. 


END 


10KS.  STATIONERY 

OFFICE 
CHOOL  SUPPLIES 

'.Senta  Clara  st 

>AN  JOSE 


